"Don't you see," St. Vincent said to Frona, "there is no hope?"
"But there is. Listen!" And she swiftly outlined the plot of the night before.
He followed her in a half-hearted way, too crushed to partake of her enthusiasm. "It's madness to attempt it," he objected, when she had done.
"And it looks very much like hanging not to attempt it," she answered a little spiritedly. "Surely you will make a fight?"
"Surely," he replied, hollowly.
The first witnesses were two Swedes, who told of the wash-tub incident, when Borg had given way to one of his fits of anger. Trivial as the incident was, in the light of subsequent events it at once became serious. It opened the way for the imagination into a vast familiar field. It was not so much what was said as what was left unsaid. Men born of women, the rudest of them, knew life well enough to be aware of its significance,—a vulgar common happening, capable of but one interpretation11. Heads were wagged knowingly in the course of the testimony12, and whispered comments went the rounds.
Half a dozen witnesses followed in rapid succession, all of whom had closely examined the scene of the crime and gone over the island carefully, and all of whom were agreed that there was not the slightest trace to be found of the two men mentioned by the prisoner in his preliminary statement.
To Frona's surprise, Del Bishop14 went upon the stand. She knew he disliked St. Vincent, but could not imagine any evidence he could possess which would bear upon the case.
Being sworn, and age and nationality ascertained15, Bill Brown asked him his business.
"Pocket-miner," he challenged back, sweeping16 the assemblage with an aggressive glance.
Now, it happens that a very small class of men follow pocketing, and that a very large class of men, miners, too, disbelieve utterly17 in any such method or obtaining gold.
"Pocket-miner!" sneered18 a red-shirted, patriarchal-looking man, a man who had washed his first pan in the Californian diggings in the early fifties.
"Yep," Del affirmed.
"Now, look here, young feller," his interlocutor continued, "d'ye mean to tell me you ever struck it in such-fangled way?"
"Yep."
"Don't believe it," with a contemptuous shrug19.
Del swallowed fast and raised his head with a jerk. "Mr. Chairman, I rise to make a statement. I won't interfere20 with the dignity of the court, but I just wish to simply and distinctly state that after the meeting's over I'm going to punch the head of every man that gets gay. Understand?"
"You're out of order," the chairman replied, rapping the table with the caulking-mallet21.
"And your head, too," Del cried, turning upon him. "Damn poor order you preserve. Pocketing's got nothing to do with this here trial, and why don't you shut such fool questions out? I'll take care of you afterwards, you potwolloper!"
"You will, will you?" The chairman grew red in the face, dropped the mallet, and sprang to his feet.
Del stepped forward to meet him, but Bill Brown sprang in between and held them apart.
"Order, gentlemen, order," he begged. "This is no time for unseemly exhibitions. And remember there are ladies present."
The two men grunted22 and subsided23, and Bill Brown asked, "Mr. Bishop, we understand that you are well acquainted with the prisoner. Will you please tell the court what you know of his general character?"
Del broadened into a smile. "Well, in the first place, he's an extremely quarrelsome disposition—"
"Hold! I won't have it!" The prisoner was on his feet, trembling with anger. "You shall not swear my life away in such fashion! To bring a madman, whom I have only met once in my life, to testify as to my character!"
The pocket-miner turned to him. "So you don't know me, eh, Gregory St.
Vincent?"
"No," St. Vincent replied, coldly, "I do not know you, my man."
"Don't you man me!" Del shouted, hotly.
But St. Vincent ignored him, turning to the crowd.
"I never saw the fellow but once before, and then for a few brief moments in Dawson."
"You'll remember before I'm done," Del sneered; "so hold your hush24 and let me say my little say. I come into the country with him way back in '84."
St. Vincent regarded him with sudden interest.
"Yep, Mr. Gregory St. Vincent. I see you begin to recollect25. I sported whiskers and my name was Brown, Joe Brown, in them days."
He grinned vindictively26, and the correspondent seemed to lose all interest.
"Is it true, Gregory?" Frona whispered.
"I begin to recognize," he muttered, slowly. "I don't know . . . no, folly27! The man must have died."
"You say in '84, Mr. Bishop?" Bill Brown prompted.
"Yep, in '84. He was a newspaper-man, bound round the world by way of
Alaska and Siberia. I'd run away from a whaler at Sitka,—that squares
it with Brown,—and I engaged with him for forty a month and found.
Well, he quarrelled with me—"
A snicker, beginning from nowhere in particular, but passing on from man to man and swelling28 in volume, greeted this statement. Even Frona and Del himself were forced to smile, and the only sober face was the prisoner's.
"But he quarrelled with Old Andy at Dyea, and with Chief George of the Chilcoots, and the Factor at Pelly, and so on down the line. He got us into no end of trouble, and 'specially29 woman-trouble. He was always monkeying around—"
"Mr. Chairman, I object." Frona stood up, her face quite calm and blood under control. "There is no necessity for bringing in the amours of Mr. St. Vincent. They have no bearing whatsoever30 upon the case; and, further, none of the men of this meeting are clean enough to be prompted by the right motive31 in conducting such an inquiry32. So I demand that the prosecution at least confine itself to relevant testimony."
Bill Brown came up smugly complacent33 and smiling. "Mr. Chairman, we willingly accede34 to the request made by the defence. Whatever we have brought out has been relevant and material. Whatever we intend to bring out shall be relevant and material. Mr. Bishop is our star witness, and his testimony is to the point. It must be taken into consideration that we nave35 no direct evidence as to the murder of John Borg. We can bring no eye-witnesses into court. Whatever we have is circumstantial. It is incumbent36 upon us to show cause. To show cause it is necessary to go into the character of the accused. This we intend to do. We intend to show his adulterous and lustful37 nature, which has culminated39 in a dastardly deed and jeopardized40 his neck. We intend to show that the truth is not in him; that he is a liar10 beyond price; that no word he may speak upon the stand need be accepted by a jury of his peers. We intend to show all this, and to weave it together, thread by thread, till we have a rope long enough and strong enough to hang him with before the day is done. So I respectfully submit, Mr. Chairman, that the witness be allowed to proceed."
The chairman decided41 against Frona, and her appeal to the meeting was voted down. Bill Brown nodded to Del to resume.
"As I was saying, he got us into no end of trouble. Now, I've been mixed up with water all my life,—never can get away from it, it seems,—and the more I'm mixed the less I know about it. St. Vincent knew this, too, and him a clever hand at the paddle; yet he left me to run the Box Canyon42 alone while he walked around. Result: I was turned over, lost half the outfit43 and all the tobacco, and then he put the blame on me besides. Right after that he got tangled44 up with the Lake Le Barge45 Sticks, and both of us came near croaking46."
"And why was that?" Bill Brown interjected.
"All along of a pretty squaw that looked too kindly47 at him. After we got clear, I lectured him on women in general and squaws in particular, and he promised to behave. Then we had a hot time with the Little Salmons49. He was cuter this time, and I didn't know for keeps, but I guessed. He said it was the medicine man who got horstile; but nothing'll stir up a medicine man quicker'n women, and the facts pointed50 that way. When I talked it over with him in a fatherly way he got wrathy, and I had to take him out on the bank and give him a threshing. Then he got sulky, and didn't brighten up till we ran into the mouth of the Reindeer51 River, where a camp of Siwashes were fishing salmon48. But he had it in for me all the time, only I didn't know it,—was ready any time to give me the double cross.
"Now, there's no denying he's got a taking way with women. All he has to do is to whistle 'em up like dogs. Most remarkable52 faculty53, that. There was the wickedest, prettiest squaw among the Reindeers. Never saw her beat, excepting Bella. Well, I guess he whistled her up, for he delayed in the camp longer than was necessary. Being partial to women—"
"That will do, Mr. Bishop," interrupted the chairman, who, from profitless watching of Frona's immobile face, had turned to her hand, the nervous twitching54 and clinching56 of which revealed what her face had hidden. "That will do, Mr. Bishop. I think we have had enough of squaws."
"Pray do not temper the testimony," Frona chirruped, sweetly. "It seems very important."
"Do you know what I am going to say next?" Del demanded hotly of the chairman. "You don't, eh? Then shut up. I'm running this particular sideshow."
Bill Brown sprang in to avert57 hostilities58, but the chairman restrained himself, and Bishop went on.
"I'd been done with the whole shooting-match, squaws and all, if you hadn't broke me off. Well, as I said, he had it in for me, and the first thing I didn't know, he'd hit me on the head with a rifle-stock, bundled the squaw into the canoe, and pulled out. You all know what the Yukon country was in '84. And there I was, without an outfit, left alone, a thousand miles from anywhere. I got out all right, though there's no need of telling how, and so did he. You've all heard of his adventures in Siberia. Well," with an impressive pause, "I happen to know a thing or two myself."
He shoved a hand into the big pocket of his mackinaw jacket and pulled out a dingy59 leather-bound volume of venerable appearance.
"I got this from Pete Whipple's old woman,—Whipple of Eldorado. It concerns her grand-uncle or great-grand-uncle, I don't know which; and if there's anybody here can read Russian, why, it'll go into the details of that Siberian trip. But as there's no one here that can—"
"Courbertin! He can read it!" some one called in the crowd.
A way was made for the Frenchman forthwith, and he was pushed and shoved, protestingly, to the front.
"Savve the lingo61?" Del demanded.
"Yes; but so poorly, so miserable," Courbertin demurred62. "It is a long time. I forget."
"Go ahead. We won't criticise63."
"No, but—"
"Go ahead!" the chairman commanded.
Del thrust the book into his hands, opened at the yellow title-page. "I've been itching55 to get my paws on some buck64 like you for months and months," he assured him, gleefully. "And now I've got you, you can't shake me, Charley. So fire away."
Courbertin began hesitatingly: "'The Journal of Father Yakontsk, Comprising an Account in Brief of his Life in the Benedictine Monastery65 at Obidorsky, and in Full of his Marvellous Adventures in East Siberia among the Deer Men.'"
The baron66 looked up for instructions.
"Tell us when it was printed," Del ordered him.
"In Warsaw, 1807."
The pocket-miner turned triumphantly67 to the room. "Did you hear that?
Just keep track of it. 1807, remember!"
The baron took up the opening paragraph. "'It was because of Tamerlane,'" he commenced, unconsciously putting his translation into a construction with which he was already familiar.
At his first words Frona turned white, and she remained white throughout the reading. Once she stole a glance at her father, and was glad that he was looking straight before him, for she did not feel able to meet his gaze just them. On the other hand, though she knew St. Vincent was eying her narrowly, she took no notice of him, and all he could see was a white face devoid68 of expression.
"'When Tamerlane swept with fire and sword over Eastern Asia,'" Courbertin read slowly, "'states were disrupted, cities overthrown69, and tribes scattered70 like—like star-dust. A vast people was hurled71 broadcast over the land. Fleeing before the conquerors72,'—no, no,—'before the mad lust38 of the conquerors, these refugees swung far into Siberia, circling, circling to the north and east and fringing the rim6 of the polar basin with a spray of Mongol tribes.'"
"Skip a few pages," Bill Brown advised, "and read here and there. We haven't got all night."
Courbertin complied. "'The coast people are Eskimo stock, merry of nature and not offensive. They call themselves the Oukilion, or the Sea Men. From them I bought dogs and food. But they are subject to the Chow Chuen, who live in the interior and are known as the Deer Men. The Chow Chuen are a fierce and savage73 race. When I left the coast they fell upon me, took from me my goods, and made me a slave.'" He ran over a few pages. "'I worked my way to a seat among the head men, but I was no nearer my freedom. My wisdom was of too great value to them for me to depart. . . Old Pi-Une was a great chief, and it was decreed that I should marry his daughter Ilswunga. Ilswunga was a filthy74 creature. She would not bathe, and her ways were not good . . . I did marry Ilswunga, but she was a wife to me only in name. Then did she complain to her father, the old Pi-Une, and he was very wroth. And dissension was sown among the tribes; but in the end I became mightier
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