Oakley Hall - Warlock

He slapped his hand down on the table top with a report like a revolver shot. “Dismissed!” he said. “I say there is no evidence Johnny Gannon did it what-so-ever that would stand up in proper court, and I just don’t believe it!”

Old McQuown spat on the floor. Whitby, red-faced still, laughed harshly, and Wash Haggin stared hard at Gannon.

“Hearing’s adjourned,” Judge Holloway said hastily. He took off his spectacles and put them, the derringer, and the Bible away in the drawer. “So now you can tell me what you think of me without offending the court, Ike.”

Old McQuown glared around the jail with eyes full of tears and hate. “My son is killed,” he said. “My son is backshot before my eyes, and not a man anywhere to do anything about it.”

“There is plenty to do something, Cousin Ike,” Wash Haggin said.

“I guess that is my place, Dad McQuown,” Gannon said suddenly. “I will be trying to find out who did it.”

Old McQuown grunted as though in pain. He didn’t look at the deputy. “I reckon you won’t be doing anything if there is a man anywhere,” he said. He looked back at the judge. “Come here after justice, George Holloway, even knowing you was a Yankee.”

“Ike,” the judge said gently. “You said you’d accept what I decided. Are you going to crawfish now?”

“I am! Because I see my son shot down and the cowardly bugger that did it walk free!”

“How many walked free because your son and his people went up to Bright’s City and perjured them off?” the judge said.

“I trusted you, George Holloway,” the old man said, shaking his head. “And you have tricked and thrown us down today, and mocked an old man with his son dead. I come in here against my inclination, and these boys too. I thought soon or late we was going to have to face up to a change in things, but I see it is dog eat dog like always, and justice only what you make yourself.”

“Bud,” Wash Haggin said to Gannon. “A man could say you did Curley a disservice swearing what turned him loose for Blaisedell to kill. The judge did you a disfavor the same just now, Bud. You are a dead man.”

Kate Dollar sat up very stiffly. All eyes turned on Gannon.

“Wash,” Gannon said. “You have known me — what did I ever do you’d think I’d do a thing like this?”

“Know what you turned into,” Wash Haggin said.

“Chet,” Gannon said. “Maybe you will see that if every man is to think the worst he can think of every other man, then there is going to be no man finally better than that.”

The muscles on Chet Haggin’s jaw stood out, but he did not answer. Wash Haggin said in a flat voice, “You won’t be around to see it get much worse, Bud.”

“George Holloway,” said old McQuown, “I have known you awhile and you me. I tell you it is a shame on you. You have thrown me hard and by a poor trick. You don’t know what it is to lose your son and have it laughed in your face, and the bugger that did it tricked free.”

“It’s not laughed in your face, Ike.”

“Was, and right here. I say he was a good boy and peaceable, and they laugh and scorn me for saying it. He was sitting down there how long with every man to think him yellow for it — because he didn’t want to go against Blaisedell that was marshal here. Not a yellow bone in his poor dead body. Oh, I was as bad as the rest, I’ll say that right out; his own daddy was as bad as the rest, that was every one of them badgering at him to go against Blaisedell. When he knew it wasn’t the thing to do. Knew it better than me, God rest his soul, for I cared too much in my pride about what some coyotes thought of him. Blaisedell pushing on him and pushing on him, that only wanted to be left in peace and to do right, till finally he was pushed too far and his own best friend murdered by that murdering fiend out of hell. And he had to come then, there was nothing else for it.

“And then Blaisedell sends his lick-spittle Judas down to gulch him rather than fight it fair down the street here. But there is no justice to be had. It is bitter, George Holloway, but I will swear something else I didn’t swear before because it would’ve only been laughed to scorn. I swear my boy will go to heaven and that foul devil to hell where he belongs and Bud Gannon along with him.”

“And soon,” Whitby said, in a low voice.

“That’s pled to another judge than me, Ike,” the judge said.

“Already been. Abe is looking down on us from heaven right now, and pitying us for poor miserable mortal men.”

“He’ll be happier before tonight,” Wash Haggin said, looking down at his hands.

Old McQuown lay back on his pallet and gazed up at the ceiling. “What have we come to?” he said quietly. “Every man out here used to be a man and decent, and took care of himself and never had to ask for help, for always there was people to give it without it was asked. Fighting murdering Pache devils and fighting greasers, and real men around, then. Murder done there was kin to take it up and cut down the murdering dog, or friends to take it up. Those days when there was friends still. When a man was free to come in town and laugh and jollify with his friends, and friends could meet in town and enjoy towning it, and there was pleasure then. Drink whisky, and gamble some, and fight it stomp and gouge sometimes when there was differences, but afterwards friends again. No one to say a man no, in those days, and kill him if he didn’t run for cover and shiver in his boots. Life was worth the living of it in those days.”

“And men killed sixteen to the dozen in those days,” the judge said, quietly too. “And not by murdering Apaches, either. Rustling and road-agenting all around and this town treated as though it was a shooting gallery on Saturday nights, for the cowboys’ pleasure. Miners killed like there was a bounty on them, and a harmless barber shot dead because his razor slipped a little. Yes, things were free in those days.”

“Better than these! Maybe men was killed, but killed fair and chance for chance, and not butchered down and backshot. And no man proud enough to raise a hand to stop it!

“But there is some left to raise a hand! There is some of us down valley not eat up with being townfolk and silver-crazy and afraid to breathe. When there is a man killed foul and unrighteous in the sight of God, there will be some to avenge his name. There is some left!”

“Every man’s hand will be against you, Ike,” the judge said. “It is a battle you poor, dumb, ignorant, misled, die-hard fools have fought a million times and never won in the end, and I lost this leg beating you of it once before. Because times change, and will change, and are changing, Ike. If you will let them change like they are bound to do, why, they will change easy. But fight them like you do every time and they will change hard and grind you to dust like a millstone grinding.”

“We’ll see who the grinder is!” old man McQuown cried.

“Blaisedell is who it is, Ike. You pull him down on you hard and harder, and on us too who maybe don’t like what he stands for a whole lot better than you do. But we will have him, or you, and rather him; and you will have him for you will not have law and order.”

“We will not have it when it is Blaisedell,” Chet Haggin said.

“Blaisedell has run his string,” Wash Haggin said grimly.

“Thought he had,” the judge said. “But he hasn’t if you are going to go on taking law and order as set pure against you every time. Ike, where I was a young fellow there was a statue out before the courthouse that was meant to represent justice. She had a sword that didn’t point at nobody, and a blindfold over her eyes, and scales that balanced. Maybe it was different with you Confederates. A good many of you I’ve seen I’ve thought it must’ve been a different statue of her you had down south. One that her sword always poked at you . One with no blindfold on her eyes, so you always thought she was looking straight at you . And her scales tipped against you , every time. For I have never seen such men to take her on and try to fight her.