Savage Territory

Chapter Six

From the Fort Collins Ledger:

A FATAL DISCOURSE

About one o’clock yesterday afternoon the pistol was used with fatal effect in the Hungry Miner Saloon, resulting in the death of Lee Marcus of a gunshot wound from a weapon in the hand of Pogue Willis. The causes which led to this unfortunate tragedy are brief. Marcus, a mining engineer, had been in Colorado but a period of eighteen months. He was thirty-two years of age, powerfully built, standing over six feet in height and weighing about 190 pounds.

A man of genteel sensitivities, Marcus took issue when he saw Pogue Willis strike Juanita Simpson in the face. Miss Simpson is a bar girl and sometime soiled dove who plies her avocation in the Hungry Miner Saloon.

Upon observing Willis striking Miss Simpson, Marcus reminded Pogue Willis of the responsibilities a gentleman has when dealing with women, suggesting that it was considered unseemly of Willis to strike Miss Simpson. There is no doubt that Marcus little dreamed that his innocent remark would hurl his soul into eternity before the sun had set.

Pogue Willis is a little man, standing but five feet six inches tall, but he more than compensates for what nature has denied him by making himself a man with a well-earned reputation for deadly skill in the employment of a pistol. It is well known that many men, all of whom were bigger, stronger, and better men than he in every respect, have fallen before his gun.

As it so happened yesterday, after a few remarks were passed back and forth between the two men, Willis, as is often the wont of small men with power beyond their physical attributes, began to show an ugly resentment toward Marcus and became very abusive.

The innocent exchange turned deadly when Marcus, goaded into it by Willis, made an attempt to draw his pistol. Now, whereas Marcus was a mining engineer and not a pistoleer, he was ill prepared to continue the fight, for Willis, upon seeing the clumsy attempt Marcus made, drew his own pistol and fired, his shot taking effect in Marcus’s chest, the bullet piercing the lung.

Marcus fell to the floor of the saloon and soon expired. Sheriff Seth Allen arrived on the scene shortly thereafter, and promptly arrested Willis. Trial will be held in the morning before Circuit Judge Tony Heckemeyer.

Judge Heckemeyer arrived in Fort Collins in a black surrey with yellow wheels. The surrey was drawn by two black horses, each of which had a yellow tassel on its head. A rather large man, Heckemeyer had been summoned by telegraph, so he was not surprised to see that many in the town turned out to welcome him.

“Are you goin’ to hang him, Judge?” someone shouted from the porch of the apothecary.

Believing a response, any response, would be beneath the dignity of the office, Heckemeyer didn’t answer. Instead, he drove straight through town to the Hungry Miner Saloon. The irony was that Pogue Willis would be tried in the same saloon in which he had killed Lee Marcus.

“Hello, Judge, welcome to Fort Collins,” Sheriff Allen said, greeting Heckemeyer just as he stepped into the saloon.

“Hello, Seth,” Heckemeyer replied. Seeing two people standing at the bar, drinking beer, Heckemeyer pointed to the bartender. “Hodge, you know better than that,” he said. “Shut this bar down.”

“The bar is closed, Judge. They’re just still drinkin’ what they bought before the bar was closed,” Hodge replied.

“You two boys got three choices,” Heckemeyer said to the two men who were drinking the beer. “Pour it out now, or leave the saloon with it and don’t come back.”

“You said three choices, Judge,” one of the beer drinkers replied.

“Oh, yes. Your third choice is to be put in jail for thirty days for contempt of court.”

Both drinkers immediately handed their beers over to Hodge, who, obligingly, poured out the rest.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Heckemeyer said.

Clearing his throat, Sheriff Allen turned and called out loudly: “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye. This court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Anthony Heckemeyer presiding.”

One table had been set up at the end of the saloon that was closest to the piano. Two other tables were set up, one for the defense and one for the prosecution. All the other tables had been moved to one side of the room and twelve chairs had been set up for the jury. The remaining chairs had been put in rows for the spectators.

There were only two lawyers in Fort Collins, and they took turns being the prosecutor. Today, the prosecution was being handled by George Dempster, and the defense by David Craig.

Dempster called witnesses who testified that Pogue Willis had goaded Marcus into finally drawing his gun.

Juanita Simpson was called to the stand. One of her eyes was black and nearly swollen shut. There was also a bruise on her cheek, both being visual evidence of the treatment she had received from Pogue Willis.

“Miss Simpson, Would you tell us, please, in your own words, what happened?” Dempster asked.

“Mr. Willis asked me to bring him a drink and when I did, he accused me of stickin’ my finger into it.”

“Did you stick your finger into the drink?”

“No, sir, I did not. And I told him I didn’t, but that didn’t make no never-mind. He hit me anyway. Then, Mr. Marcus said to Mr. Willis that he didn’t have no call to hit me like that. One thing led to another and, the next thing you know, there was shootin’ and poor Mr. Marcus was dead.”

Juanita’s testimony was most poignant, and she broke down on the stand while testifying.

“Take your time, Miss Simpson,” Dempster said.

Juanita wiped her eyes and blew her nose before she continued. “The thing is, Mr. Marcus died because he was takin’ up for me,” she said.

“Miss Simpson,” Craig said in his cross-examination. “You say you did not stick your finger in Mr. Willis’s drink?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“Why do you think he accused you of doing that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, surely you know, Miss Simpson. Why did he accuse you of sticking your finger in the drink? Do you think it might be because you refused to do business with him?”

“Do business with him?” Juanita said.

“Yes, do business. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, Miss Simpson. What sort of business are you in?”

“I work at the Hungry Miner.”

“Is it true, Miss Simpson, that you are a whore at the Hungry Miner? And is it not also true that you angered Pogue Willis, not by sticking your finger in his drink, but by refusing to go upstairs with him?”

“Objection,” Dempster said quickly. “Irrelevant!”

“Withdraw the question,” Craig said. “Miss Simpson, did you actually see the gunfight?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Who drew first?”

“You don’t understand. Pogue Willis just kept on goading Mr. Marcus. He just wouldn’t leave him alone. He was wantin’ Mr. Marcus to draw his gun.”

“Who drew first?” Craig repeated.

“Well, it was Mr. Marcus, but he—”

“Thank you, Miss Simpson. I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor.”

When all the witnesses had testified, Judge Heckemeyer invited the counselors to give their closing arguments. Counselor for the defense was first.

“Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the witnesses to this shooting and, since it happened right here in the saloon during a busy time, more than a dozen were able to testify.”

Craig paused for a moment.

“More than a dozen witnesses had a good enough view of the shooting to be able to give us a very detailed description of what happened. And, gentlemen of the jury—” Craig paused and held up his forefinger. “No one, not one witness, testified that Willis drew first. In fact, every eyewitness who testified before this august court and honorable judge testified that it was Marcus who drew first.”

Craig pointed to Willis.

“You may not like Pogue Willis. Indeed, few do, for he is not a very likable man. But you cannot find him guilty of being unlikable. And if you are honest with yourself, you know that you cannot find him guilty of murder either.”

Dempster stood up when Craig sat down. It was time for him to give his closing argument, but he stood silent for a long moment, then shook his head.

“An unlikable man?” Dempster said, speaking very quietly. “Unlikable?” he repeated, just a little louder. Then he pointed to Willis. “He is not merely unlikable—he is an evil spawn of Satan!”

Dempster shouted the last phrase.

“This unlikable”—he twisted his mouth as he said the word—“man has killed fifteen human beings! Do you fully understand that? Fifteen men, men who were someone’s son, brother, husband, and father, fifteen men were killed by Pogue Willis.

“And now we are asked to find him innocent because the other man drew first? You have heard witness after witness testify that Pogue Willis goaded, cajoled, beleaguered, and intimidated Mr. Marcus until he felt that he had no choice but to draw. It has also been testified here that Pogue Willis had a smile on his face as he pulled the trigger.

“I ask that you find this man guilty, and that the judge sentence him to hang.”

“Hear, hear!” someone in the gallery shouted.

Judge Heckemeyer quickly restored order by the judicious use of his gavel. Once order was restored, he charged the jury and they adjourned to the back room of the saloon to make their decision. After only a few minutes of deliberation, the jury returned.

“Mr. Foreman,” he said. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor,” the foreman answered. The foreman was Al Frakes, owner of Frakes Photography.

“Please hand the verdict to the bailiff.”

Frakes gave a little piece of paper to the bailiff, who took it over to the judge. Heckemeyer read the verdict silently.

“Mr. Willis, approach the bench,” he said sternly.

Although Matt Jensen had already bought a round-trip train ticket to St. Louis, he’d stayed in town long enough to attend the trial and now, as Pogue Willis approached the bench, Matt studied the expression on his face. Throughout the trial Willis had displayed arrogance and bravado. Now, however, being summoned to stand before the judge, he began to show a little bit of apprehension.

Matt could understand Willis’s concern. For Willis, a prison sentence would be as deadly as a sentence to be hanged. Willis had made a lot of enemies during his short, but very brutal, career, and many of his enemies were now in prison. On the outside, where he could carry a pistol, Pogue Willis feared few men. But, if he had to go to prison, he would be unarmed. Without a gun, Pogue Willis would be dead within less than a week.

“Pogue Willis, it has been testified to in this court that when a Good Samaritan saw you hitting a woman, he asked you politely to quit. It has further been testified to that you took issue with that Good Samaritan and, for no good reason, began goading him, challenging him, and pushing him beyond reasonable limits until he was forced to draw against you.

“If it were my case to decide, I would find your sorry carcass guilty and sentence you to hang within the week. But it is the law of our land that you are to be tried by your peers, and your peers, following the letter if not the intent of the law, have ruled that, because Lee Marcus drew first, you are not guilty.”

“Ha!” Willis shouted happily. “I know’d I was goin’ to beat this one.”

“I am going to acquiesce to the ruling of the jury, for I have no other choice,” Judge Heckemeyer said. “However, sir, I am now issuing this court order. You are to vacate the town of Fort Collins and the state of Colorado. If you return to Colorado, I will have you arrested and thrown into prison for violation of this court order. I do not think, Mr. Willis, that you would fare very well in prison.”

“Judge, you got no right to run me out of the state,” Willis protested.

“You are free to appeal my decision, Mr. Willis,” Heckemeyer said. “But in order to make that appeal, you will have to remain in the state. And if you remain in the state, I will put you in prison, where you will remain until that appeal is acted upon. So your choice is simple. Leave the state, or make an appeal from behind prison walls. Now, which shall it be?”

“I’ll, uh, leave the state, Judge,” Willis said.

“I thought you might see it my way. Sheriff, escort this man to the depot and put him on the next train,” Heckemeyer said. He banged the gavel down on the table that was serving as his bench. “This court is dismissed.”

“Gents! The bar is open!” the bartender shouted, and there was a rush to the bar as the patrons hurried to quench the thirsts that had been generated by the trial.