Shootout of the Mountain Man

Chapter Three

In the parlor of the house Smoke had built for his wife at Sugarloaf, on the wall opposite the windows, there was a picture that Smoke particularly liked. Sally found it rather jarring, but tolerated it because of her love of Smoke. The picture, cut from a calendar, was a full-color Currier and Ives print of two night trains, racing out of Washington, D.C., sparks flying from the stacks and with every window in every car shining brightly. It was a dramatic, if unrealistic, representation. Just below the calendar was the stove, cool now as there was no need for it, but with the faint aroma of smoke from last year’s use still clinging to the black iron. Next to the stove was a large mahogany, coiled spring-driven, disc-operated music box. It was playing now, and the music it produced was full throated and vibrant, resonating throughout the room.

Sally was doing some crochet, while Smoke was looking at a new stack of stereopticon photographs. At the moment, he was looking at a picture of London’s Big Ben. They were equally involved in their pursuits when Pearlie knocked on the front door.

“Come in, Pearlie,” Sally called.

Removing his hat, the young foreman came into the room.

“Something I can do for you, Pearlie?” Smoke asked, looking up from the stereoscope he was holding in his hands.

“Yes, sir, I reckon there is, if you are of a mind to allow it, that is.”

Smoke put the instrument down. “Allow it? What is it I am to allow?”

“Me and Cal have been thinkin',” Pearlie started.

Smoke chuckled. “Now that is something I would like to have seen. Imagine, you and Cal both thinking at the same time.”

“Smoke, don’t tease so,” Sally scolded.

Smoke laughed. “All right, I’m sorry. But it did seem like a funny thought to me.”

Pearlie chuckled as well. “Yes, sir, well I admit that thinkin’ ain’t somethin’ me an’ Cal do all that well. But thinkin’ is what we was doin’ all right, and what we’d like to do is ride off to Denver and see if me an’ him couldn’t ride in that there rodeo they are a’ holdin'. We could win us some money.”

“Are you saying I don’t pay you two enough?”

“No, no!” Pearlie said quickly. “We don’t mean nothin’ like that. It’s just that, well, sir, me an’ Cal is both pretty good riders an’ we would just love to prove it, is all.”

“Smoke, stop teasing them so. You knew they were planning this. I told you all about it.”

“I know,” Smoke said. “I was just having a little fun is all. I’m sorry, Pearlie, of course you and Cal can go. When are you leaving?”

“The rodeo is a couple of weeks from now. We figure on leavin’ about Monday of the week of the rodeo. That is, iffen you don’t mind.”

“What do you think, Sally?”

“I have no problem with them going,” Sally said. “But his grammar?” She screwed up her face. “It is positively atrocious.”

“Now who is teasing him?” Smoke asked.

“I’m not teasing, I am teaching.”

“You plan on being a teacher forever, do you?” Smoke asked. “You gave up that job a long time ago.”

“Teaching isn’t a job,” Sally replied. “It is a never-ending commitment. Yes, I will continue to teach for as long as I live.”

Getting up from the table where he had been looking at the three-dimensional pictures, Smoke walked over to Sally, then leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“And I will continue to learn as long as you are willing to teach,” he said.

“Me too,” Pearlie added.

Sally laughed. “Pearlie, you are—a challenge,” she said.

Three days after Bobby Lee was brought into Cloverdale under guard, his trial got under way when Judge Briggs came through town as part of his circuit. Briggs arrived in a carriage that was driven by a black man who was also his bodyguard. His Honor, Judge Jeremiah J. Briggs, was a tall, thin—some might even describe him as cadaverous—man. He had a sallow complexion, sunken cheeks, deep-set eyes that were so brown that there was little delineation between iris and pupil, dark, bushy eyebrows, and dark hair. He wore a black suit with a burgundy vest and matching cravat. Because there were only two lawyers in town, Briggs appointed one as the prosecutor and the other as defense counsel. Arriving at ten in the morning, Judge Briggs gave the lawyers, both for the prosecution and the defense, until two o’clock that afternoon to prepare their case.

“I expect to have this case tried and adjudicated before supper,” he said. “Do you think we can do that?”

Ray Roswell, who had been appointed as the prosecutor, nodded confidently. “Your Honor, I have an entire trainload of passengers who were witnesses to the murder. I expect this to be a quick and easy trial.”

“Mr. Reid, will you have time to prepare you case by two o’clock?” Judge Briggs asked the defense counsel.

“Easily, Your Honor,” Reid said. “There is little to prepare for. Unfortunately for me, it seems to be an open-and-shut case against my client.”

“Very well, court will convene at two o’clock sharp,” Judge Briggs said.

Reid went directly from the meeting in the judge’s hotel room to the jail, where he asked to speak with the prisoner.

“He’s back there,” Deputy Harley Beard said.

Bobby Lee was lying on the bunk with his hands laced behind his head when the door from the sheriff’s office opened and a fat man with a florid face and thin, blond hair stepped into the back. He was sweating profusely, and he held a sweat-soaked handkerchief in his hand.

“Bobby Lee Campbell?” he asked.

“Cabot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Bobby Lee Cabot,” Bobby Lee said. “That’s my name.”

The fat man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and looked at it, his lips moving as he read the print.

“Yes, Cabot,” he said. “That’s you?”

“It is.”

“My name is Jack Reid. I’ve been appointed as your defense attorney.”

Bobby Lee extended his hand, but saw that Jack Reid made no effort to reciprocate, so he pulled his hand back.

“Why am I being appointed an attorney?” Bobby Lee asked. “I can afford my own attorney.”

Reid wiped sweat from his face before he answered. “There are only two counselors in Cloverdale,” he replied. “The judge has appointed Mr. Roswell as prosecutor, so that leaves me for you. ”

Bobby Lee nodded. “I guess that answers my question, doesn’t it?”

“I’m here to help prepare for your defense. We go to trial at two o’clock this afternoon.”

Bobby Lee looked up at the clock that hung from the wall at the end of the small corridor that separated the two jail cells from the back wall of the sheriff’s office. It read twelve-fifteen.

“That’s only an hour and forty-five minutes,” he said. “That doesn’t leave us much time, does it?”

“It’s time enough for the defense I have planned,” Reid said.

“What defense is that? ”

“I have looked at the case of the prosecution, Mr. Cabot. And my advice to you is to plead guilty, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the court.”

“What?” Bobby Lee replied sharply. “I’ll do no such thing! I was not a participant in the robbery, I was trying to stop it.”

“Mr. Cabot, the entire train saw you riding with Dodd and the others,” Reid said.

“Yes, of course I was riding with them. It was all part of the plan. I was to ride with them and gather information as to when and where their next robbery would take place.”

“But the entire train saw you with them,” Reid said again, as if he had not understood a word Bobby Lee said. “It will be their word against yours.”

Bobby Lee shook his head. “I don’t deny I was riding with Dodd. The passengers did see that, but what the passengers could not see was my intent. Why was I riding with Dodd?”

“Is that really the case you want to make?” Reid asked.

“Of course it is the case I want to make. It is the truth, so I can do little else.”

“All right, I’ll do what I can, but don’t expect much,” Reid said without enthusiasm. He turned to leave. “I’ll see you in court at two o’clock.”

“Wait, that’s it? You are leaving now? That’s all the preparation you are going to do?”

“What else is there to prepare?” Reid said. “You tell me that you were with Dodd because, somehow, you had planned to trap him and the others. Right?”

“Yes,” Bobby Lee replied.

“Then I am prepared.”

Bobby Lee watched his lawyer waddle through the door and close it behind him. Now, for the first time since being put in jail, he began to think that he was not going to be able to get out of this.

At two o’clock that afternoon, Deputy Beard led a handcuffed Bobby Lee into the courtroom, which was actually the ballroom of the Depot Hotel.

“Sit over there behind that table,” Beard said, pointing to a table at which sat the still-sweating Jack Reid.

“Good luck, Bobby Lee,” someone called, and looking toward the crowded gallery, he saw Doc Baker, the man who had called out to him, Nate Nabors, and Minnie Smith. Nabors owned the Gold Strike Saloon and Minnie worked for him.

Minnie smiled bravely at him, and Bobby Lee smiled back.

Those three seemed to represent the only friendly faces in the entire crowd. In the face of nearly every other person present, he saw anger and hatred of the man they had already convicted in their own minds. Just across from Bobby Lee sat Ray Roswell, the prosecutor. He was tall, dignified-looking, with piercing blue eyes and silver hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard. He was wearing a suit that fit his slender body well. Bobby Lee groaned inwardly. If the jury was going to make its decision on the appearance of the respective lawyers, he had already lost.

When he looked toward the jury box, Bobby Lee saw not one friendly face. He only recognized one juror, and it was a man he had beaten in a game of poker a few weeks earlier. The man had lost a considerable amount of money, and had accused everyone else at the table, including Bobby Lee, of cheating.

Sheriff Wallace came in through another door, stood just inside the door, and called out in a loud voice.

“Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye! This here trial is about to commence, the Honorable Jeremiah J. Briggs, presiding. Everybody stand respectful.”

The Honorable Jeremiah J. Briggs came out of a back room. After taking his seat at the bench, he put on his glasses, fitting the earpieces very carefully over each ear, one at a time, then cleared his throat.

“You may be seated,” he said.

There was a rustle of clothing and the scrape of chairs as the gallery, large enough to overflow the courtroom, responded.

Judge Briggs picked up a piece of paper and looked at it for a moment before speaking.

“There comes now before this court defendant Bobby Lee Cabot, charged with murder, pursuant to the shooting death of August Fletcher on the night of August twenty-first in the current year. Is the defendant represented by counsel?”

“Yes, Your Honor, I am counsel for the defense,” Reid answered.

“Is the state represented by counsel?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Roswell answered.

“Very well, we may proceed. Would the bailiff please bring the accused before the bench?”

Sheriff Wallace, who was acting as bailiff for this trial, walked over to the table where Bobby Lee sat next to Jack Reid.

“Get up, Cabot,” he growled. “Present yourself before the judge.”

Bobby Lee was still handcuffed, and had shackles on his ankles. He shuffled up to stand in front of the judge. Reid went with him.

“Bobby Lee Cabot, you stand accused of the crime of murder, specifically the murder of August Fletcher, Mr. Fletcher being at the time of his demise a messenger for the Nevada Central Railway Company. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Bobby Lee said, speaking the words loudly and distinctly so that everyone in the courtroom could hear him.

“Prosecutor, make your case,” Judge Briggs said. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in the chair and watched as Roswell rose from his seat, then approached the jury.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “You have been assembled here today to adjudicate the case of murder. It is a difficult duty, but a duty of great honor, for in it lies the entire underpinnings of our republic. You are exercising the rights and privileges secured for us by thousands of brave young men who died upon fields of battle, men who gave their last full measure of devotion so that, for as long as our republic shall endure, men like you can perform the noble duty of providing a fair trial for those such as the accused.”

Ray Roswell was smooth in appearance and language, and it was immediately apparent that he had won the respect of the jury. He gave an impassioned opening argument to the jury, calling upon sympathy for the slain messenger, evoking the image of a loving husband and father of three, taken from his family by the brutal act of murder.

“Defense may claim that his was not the finger that pulled the trigger, but by law, that does not matter,” Roswell pointed out. “He was in the act of committing a felony and, during the commission of that felony, an innocent man was killed. That makes everyone concerned equally guilty. I am confident, in fact I fully expect, that at the conclusion of this trial, you will exercise the most solemn duty of your purview, and that is to find guilty, and recommend the penalty of death by hanging for the defendant Bobby Lee Cabot.”

“No!” a woman’s voice called out from the gallery, and though Bobby Lee recognized the voice as that of Minnie Smith, the judge did not know who had called out.

“I will have no more verbal responses from this gallery,” the judge said sternly. He looked toward the defense table. “Counselor, present your defense,” he said.

Reid put his sweat-dampened handkerchief on the table, then walked over to the jury. By contrast to Roswell’s smooth and dignified appearance, Reid’s suit hung in such a misshapen fashion that he looked for all the world like a stuffed sausage. His voice was thin, and difficult to hear.

“That Mr. Cabot was there, we cannot deny. It was a full moon that night, and though it had rained earlier, the clouds moved away, which meant that my client was seen by nearly everyone on the train, bending down over the body of poor Mr. Fletcher. In fact, three passengers from the train disarmed Mr. Cabot and brought him here to jail. But"—Reid held up his finger as if making a salient point—"Bobby Lee Cabot is not the man who did the actual shooting. And I ask you to bear that in mind.”

As Roswell had just pointed out to the jury that it didn’t matter whether Bobby Lee had been the shooter or not, everyone in the court looked at each other and shook their heads in total contempt for Reid’s efforts.

“You are fired,” Bobby Lee said when Reid sat back down.

“You can’t fire me. I’m the only other lawyer in town.”

“I’ll defend myself.”

“You know what they say. The man who defends himself has a fool for a lawyer. ”

“I couldn’t have a worse fool for a lawyer if I chose the town drunk,” Bobby Lee said. “Your Honor, I am firing my counselor,” he called out.

“Your Honor, I object,” Reid said.

“You object to what, Counselor?”

“I object to this man firing me.”

“Objection overruled. He has every right to fire you, and every right to defend himself.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bobby Lee said.

“Don’t thank me, young man,” Judge Briggs said. “I fear you have chosen an impossible task for yourself. You may present your case.”

Bobby Lee held out his hands. “Could I have these handcuffs removed? ”

“Remove the handcuffs, but keep the shackles on his ankles,” the judge said.

The sheriff walked over to the defendant’s table and removed the handcuffs. Bobby Lee stood, and rubbed his wrists for a few seconds before he began to speak.

“Your Honor, I was not a member of Frank Dodd’s gang,” Bobby Lee said. “I am an employee of the Western Capital Security Agency, and I had infiltrated his gang not for any personal gain, but for the sole purpose of setting a trap for him. That’s why I sent a letter to Sheriff Wallace, explaining what I was doing, providing him with information as to the date and time of the holdup—Wednesday, July twentieth, at ten-thirty, and the place, which was the watering tower ten miles south of Lone City. In that same letter, I asked him to be in the car with his deputies in order to facilitate the arrest of Dodd and his confederates.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Roswell called. “The letter is not in evidence.”

“Can you produce the letter, Mr. Cabot?” Judge Briggs asked.

“No, sir. I sent the letter to Sheriff Wallace, so I don’t have it. But I can prove that I sent it.”

“How can you prove it?”

“I would like to call as my first witness Minnie Smith. I told her about the letter.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Roswell called. “That would be hearsay. ”

“Sustained. You cannot call Miss Smith.”

“Then I would like to call Dr. Baker to the stand.”

“Did Dr. Baker actually see you mail the letter?” Judge Briggs asked.

“No, sir, he didn’t see me mail the letter, but I told him that I was going to mail the letter. And I told him before I sent it.”

“Objection,” Roswell called.

“Sustained.”

“May I call Nate Nabors?” Bobby Lee asked, his voice almost pleading.

“Are you calling Mr. Nabors as a character or a material witness?” Judge Briggs asked.

“I’m not sure I understand the difference.”

“A character witness will testify as to your character,” Judge Briggs explained. “He will tell what a fine upstanding citizen you are, when you are not murdering Western Capital Security Agency messengers.”

The gallery laughed, and Bobby Lee fumed, knowing that the joke and the laughter were at his expense.

“A material witness’s testimony will provide testimony that provides direct evidence pertaining to the case.”

“In that case, Your Honor, Mr. Nabors is a material witness.”

“You may call him.”

“Nate?” Bobby Lee called.

“Your Honor, may I inquire if the defendant is going to ask the witness about the supposed letter?”

“Are you going to ask about the letter?” Judge Briggs asked.

“Your Honor, I told Mr. Nabors about the letter.”

“Did you show him the letter? Did he see you mail it?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Your Honor, I object to this witness.”

“Objection sustained. You may not call the witness, Mr. Cabot.”

“Your Honor,” Bobby Lee said in obvious frustration. “If you won’t let me call any witnesses, then I don’t know how I’m going to prove that I sent that letter.”

“If the only witnesses you have are people that you told about the letter, then their testimony would be considered hearsay and is not admissible,” the judge said. “Have you anything else to offer in your defense?”

“Wait a minute,” Bobby Lee said. “What about Fred Welch?”

“Who is Fred Welch?”

“I am Fred Welch, Your Honor,” a man said. He was sitting in the gallery.

“Mr. Cabot, what is Mr. Welch’s relationship to this case?”

“He is the postman, Your Honor. He delivered the letter.”

“Is that right, Mr. Welch?” the judge asked. “Did you deliver the letter in question?”

“I don’t know,” Welch replied.

“You don’t know?”

“Your Honor, I deliver hundreds of pieces of mail every day,” Welch said. “And I deliver a lot of mail to the sheriff. I don’t ever notice who the mail is from, only where it is going. It could be that I delivered the letter that Mr. Cabot is talking about, but if I did, I don’t remember it.”

“Your Honor, if this witness cannot support the defendant’s claim as to the delivery of the letter, then I see no merit to his being called,” Roswell said.

“I agree, Mr. Roswell,” Judge Briggs said. “Defense move to call Fred Welch as a witness is denied.”

“Your Honor, you have not let me call any witnesses at all,” Bobby Lee said.

“That’s because you have not presented a witness who is material to the case,” Judge Briggs said. “Now, I will ask you again. Have you anything further to present in your defense?”

Bobby Lee shook his head. “Only that I didn’t do it. I mean, yes, sir, I was there, but like I say, I was there trying to catch the Frank Dodd gang. And if Sheriff Wallace had done what I asked him to do in the letter, if he had been there like he was supposed to, then more than likely Mr. Fletcher would still be alive, and Dodd and the others with him would be in jail.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Roswell said. “As the letter is not in evidence, it cannot again be mentioned, either in presentation or summary.”

“Sustained. Do you understand what that means, Mr. Cabot?” Briggs asked.

“I’m not sure that I do understand, Judge.”

“It means that this letter, whether real or supposed, is of no use to you in your defense. You may not mention it again. Do you understand it now?”

“Yes, sir. Uh, yes, Your Honor.”

“Do you have anything else to present in your defense?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Mr. Roswell, make your case,” the judge said.

“Your Honor, prosecution calls Sheriff Herman Wallace to the stand,” Roswell said.

“Sheriff Wallace, take the stand, please,” Judge Briggs said.

Wallace stood, hiked up his trousers, then walked to the front of the courtroom. After he was sworn in, he took the stand, which was a chair next to the table Judge Briggs was using as his bench. Wallace was so big that once he sat down, none of the chair could be seen. As a result, it almost looked as if he were just squatting in the front of the room, and for some reason, despite the severity of the moment, Bobby Lee found the picture funny. He laughed out loud.

“Do you find these proceedings funny, Mr. Cabot?” Judge Briggs asked sharply.

“No, Your Honor,” Bobby Lee replied.

“Then please display the proper decorum in my courtroom.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Counselor, you may continue with your direct,” Judge Briggs said.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Roswell said. He then turned his attention to his witness.

“Sheriff Wallace, defense claims that the two of you were working together. He further claims that he provided you with all the information as to time and place regarding the robbery, and that you were to secrete yourself in the express car for the purpose of arresting Dodd when the robbery was attempted. Are any of those claims true?”

“No, they are not,” Wallace replied forcefully.

“Let’s dismiss this subject of a letter once and for all. Did you receive a letter from the defendant, outlining all or any of these proposals?”

“I did not.”

“Would you have acted if you had received such a letter?”

“Absolutely,” Wallace said. “For the opportunity to take out the Dodd gang, I would have done anything necessary. But I never received such a letter.”

“Do you know Minnie Smith, the person that Cabot attempted to call on his behalf?”

“I know who she is, yes.”

“Assuming the judge had allowed her to testify, would her testimony have been credible?”

“I doubt it,” Wallace replied.

“Why not?”

“Miss Smith is—uh—I don’t like to say it in mixed company.”

“Come, now, Sheriff. We are all adults and we bear a serious responsibility with this trial. So I ask you again. Why do you feel that Miss Smith’s testimony would not be credible?”

“She is a—soiled dove.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She is a whore,” Wallace said.

Roswell nodded, then looked toward the young woman who was sitting in the front row. “Is her profession the only reason you would find her testimony untrustworthy?”

“No, sir. Like all whores, I suppose, she has her favorite. And for reasons unbeknownst to me, Bobby Lee Cabot seems to be that one, though what she sees in him, I’ll never know.”

The gallery laughed.

“I object!” Bobby Lee shouted.

“What is your objection, Mr. Cabot?” Judge Briggs asked.

“I object to them calling Miss Smith a whore.”

Again the gallery laughed, and Judge Briggs made use of his gavel. When the laughter stopped, he looked over at Bobby Lee. “I am going to accept your objection, Mr. Cabot, but not for the reason you stated. It had already been ruled that Miss Smith cannot testify. Therefore any reference to her in any way will not be allowed.” Briggs turned toward the jury. “Please disregard everything you have heard about Miss Smith’s reliability as a witness, as she will not be a witness.” He then addressed Roswell. “And Counselor, if you introduce her again during the course of these proceedings, I will hold you in contempt. Do you understand me, sir?”

“I do, Your Honor.”

“You may continue with your direct.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. No further questions.” Roswell turned toward Bobby Lee. “Your witness,” he said.

Bobby Lee made no reply.

“Mr. Cabot, do you wish to cross-examine this witness?” the judge asked.

“I beg your pardon, Your Honor?”

Judge Briggs sighed, then stroked his chin. “Do you wish to ask this witness any questions?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Then now is the time to do so,” Briggs said.

Bobby Lee walked over to stand near the sheriff. “Sheriff, when those people from the train brought me in to you as their prisoner, did one of the men who had been guarding me tell you that during the night he had fallen asleep, and that I had loosened my bonds and took possession of his pistol?”

“Yes.”

“And did that same man tell you that when he awoke the next morning, I returned the pistol?”

“Yes.”

“Do you not think that if I were truly guilty, I would have escaped during the night?”

“The train was running,” Sheriff Wallace said.

“Has no one ever jumped from a running train before?”

“I suppose they have.”

“Don’t you think that the reason I did not try to escape was because I knew I was innocent, and I believed you would back me up?”

“No. I think you just wanted to try and fool the guard into believing you were innocent.”

“What would be the advantage of that? He had no authority to clear my name. Only you have that authority.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Yes, you do, Sheriff. You knew what we had planned. Don’t you think I had every reason to believe that you would let me go?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you were crazy.”

There was more laughter from the gallery, and again, the judge gaveled them quiet.

“Sheriff, did I not tell you when we returned to the jail that I was surprised that you weren’t in the express car? Did my letter not ask you to do that?”

“Look here, I never got this letter you are talking about,” Wallace said, pointing at Bobby Lee.

“Objection, Your Honor, this supposed letter has already been dealt with,” Roswell shouted.

“Your Honor, you said the others couldn’t testify because I had only told them about the letter,” Bobby Lee said quickly. “The sheriff is the person I sent the letter to. If I did send it, and he denies it, then he is lying under oath, and isn’t that called perjury?”

Briggs thought for a moment, then he nodded. “It is indeed called perjury, Mr. Cabot. Prosecution’s objection is overruled. You may continue.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Sheriff Wallace, knowing that you are under oath, I ask you again. Did you receive the letter I sent?”

“No.”

“Without regard to the letter, in conversation did I or did I not tell you that I had joined Dodd’s gang for the purposes of setting a trap for him, and that I wanted you and your deputies to be in the express car?”

“I don’t recall any such conversation.”

“You are denying that we spoke about this, and you are denying that you received a letter from me.”

“Objection, Your Honor, questions have been asked and answered.”

“Sustained. Counselor, I believe you have taken this line of questioning about as far as you can take it,” Judge Briggs said. “Do you have any questions of a different line?”

Dejectedly, Bobby Lee shook his head. “No, sir, Your Honor. ”

“Redirect, Mr. Prosecutor?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Do you have any further witnesses, Mr. Roswell?” Judge Briggs asked.

“I have no further witnesses, Your Honor, but I do have a letter from the WCSA that I would like to read into the court records as evidence,” Ray Roswell said.

“And the WCSA is?”

“The Western Capital Security Agency, Your Honor. It is the private detective group for which Bobby Lee Cabot claims he was working undercover.”

“You may read the letter,” Judge Briggs said.

Roswell cleared his throat, then began to read aloud.

“The Western Capital Security Agency has no record of recommending that Mr. Cabot associate himself with the outlaw Frank Dodd. On the contrary, we would strongly oppose such an idea. If Mr. Cabot was functioning as a part of the Dodd gang, it was for reasons of his own, and not for any type of investigative operation.”

There was a collective gasp from the gallery.

“Hell, that proves it right there!” someone shouted. “No need to go on any further with this trial! Hang the son of a bitch!”

“Quiet! Quiet in the court! “ Judge Briggs said, making aggressive use of his gavel.

“Your Honor, that doesn’t prove anything!” Bobby Lee shouted. “I didn’t tell the agency that I was doing this.”

“Are you putting that in the form of an objection, Mr. Cabot?” Judge Briggs asked.

“An objection, yeah. Uh, I mean, yes, sir, Your Honor. ”

“Objection overruled.” Judge Briggs looked at Roswell. “You may continue, Counselor.”

“Yes, Your Honor. I would like to point out to the jury that because of Cabot’s connection with the Western Capital Security Agency, he would know all the schedules, and he would know which trains would be carrying large amounts of money. This would make him a valuable asset to someone like Frank Dodd. And with that, prosecution rests.”

“Thank you. Summation, Mr. Cabot?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is where you make your final appeal to the jury.”

Bobby Lee didn’t even stand. Instead, he looked directly at the jury. “I can’t prove that I’m innocent, because neither Miss Smith nor Doc Baker nor Nate Nabors could stand up here and tell you what I told them about the letter, and Sheriff Wallace, who was the only witness I spoke to, lied. Also, I know that the letter from the WCSA makes it look bad for me, but everything I said is true. I worked my way into the Dodd gang so I could set it up for the sheriff to capture them in the act. Only, the sheriff wasn’t there, so nothing went the way it was supposed to. So here I am, on trial for my life, and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it except tell you that I’m not guilty.”

“Mr. Roswell, your summation?”

Taking his cue from Bobby Lee, Roswell didn’t stand either.

“Gentlemen of the jury, I believe my case has been made,” he said. “All you have to do is consider the facts in evidence. I am confident you will come up with the verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree.”

After the judge charged the jury, the twelve men retired to one of the other rooms of the hotel to consider. It took but ten minutes for them to return a verdict of guilty.

“Will the defendant stand before the bench, please? Mr. Reid, approach with him.”

“He fired me, Your Honor,” Reid replied.

“Nevertheless, you are the court-appointed attorney of record. I don’t want any technicalities coming up after the fact. Please approach with him.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Bobby Lee Cabot, you have been found guilty as charged. It is therefore the order of this court that a gallows be built sufficient to provide the mechanism needed to extinguish your life by hanging, said event to take place on the thirty-first of this month. May God have mercy on your soul. Sheriff, remove the prisoner.”

“No! “ a woman shouted out loud.

“Bailiff, remove that woman from my court,” Judge Briggs ordered.

As the sheriff put the cuffs back on Bobby Lee, he saw one of the sheriff’s deputies escort a weeping Minnie Smith from the hotel ballroom cum courtroom.

“I’ll come see you, Bobby Lee. I promise, I’ll come see you!” Minnie shouted.

“Bake him a cake, Minnie! Bake him a cake and put a file in it!” someone called, and to the raucous laughter of all in the court, Bobby Lee was removed and taken back to the jail.