Chapter 17: Judgment
Logan woke up to find the sun streaming in the window and the mother of all headaches in his skull. He groaned as he sat up, dazedly realizing he'd fallen asleep with all his clothes on. "What…" and then the previous day's events came rushing back to him, along with the pain in his whipped back. Gritting his teeth, he levered himself up out of bed.
The door opened, and Remy LeBeau came in. "Bien. You up?"
Logan responded with a string of swearwords. The Cajun grinned, but it was a sympathetic smile. "Dat home brew, it got a kick like two teams of draft horses." He handed Logan a mug of coffee. "Here. Cafe. It make your head feel better, at least." Logan grabbed the cup from Remy and drank a huge mouthful. It scalded his mouth and throat as it went down, but it did wake him completely and the headache did recede a little.
"What the hell ya give me yer home brew for?!" he spluttered when he was finally awake enough to form intelligible words.
"Remy figure you wasn' goin' to get sleep any ot'er way. You too worried 'bout what happen today." He rummaged around under his bed for his traveling case, and took out a fresh shirt. "You a little shorter den me, but you tuck de shirt in, no one goin' be able to tell. Let me take a look at your back."
Logan evaded the other man's gaze and pulled the fresh shirt over his head, wincing a little as he did so. "I take care of myself," he growled. "Ain't nobody lookin' after my girl."
Jubilee was awake when Logan walked into the jail. Remy left him at the door, saying he would go to the magistrate's office and wait for them. "Hey?" He said softly as he waited for the sheriff to unlock the cell so he could go in. "How ya doin'?"
She looked rested, at least. The medicine the Cajun had given him to put in her food must have worked. Logan wondered why the man traveled with such a thing, but questions could wait till later. "They're taking her to the magistrate's office in two hours," the sheriff said as he swung the door open. Logan slipped inside.
She threw her arms around him when he came in and squeezed his neck tightly, and Logan found he didn't mind a bit. She smelled of sweat and blood, but otherwise she was all right. "You all right? Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?"
The sheriff spoke up. "She's not allowed to eat anything. If the judgment's against you, mister, the guy who claims her is gonna give her a whipping, or an amputation if he decides it, and she's gonna get sick. We don't want to clean up slave vomit."
"An amputation?" Logan stared in horror. The sheriff nodded, his tone softening slightly as he saw the other man's look. "Runaway slaves can have a foot amputated. Granted, it would be extreme, since that's only done in second or third offenses, but it's not unheard of for a first offense, if the other man's not feeling merciful. He might also choose just to hamstring her, however."
"Hamstring?" Logan was puzzled. "Ain't that when ya cut the big tendon in the heel ta cripple the animal? I heard they do that ta cows an' cattle, but I ain't never heard they do that ta people."
"They don't do that to people," the sheriff looked shocked. "That would be inhuman. No, it's only done to slaves."
"An' a slave ain't a human bein'?" The sheriff shook his head.
Muttering something uncomplimentary about the slave laws, Logan turned back to Jubilee. The girl was white as a sheet, and shaking. He hugged her tight. "Don't worry, kid, ya ain't gonna get maimed. Yer comin' home with me tonight."
She looked at him with huge eyes. "You're sure?"
Logan nodded. "I'm sure. How could the judge decide otherwise? A whole town full o' people done gone an' seen the Railmaster accept a penny fer ya. They sent a deputy off ta Jonesboro yesterday, he's supposed ta ask around. They'll tell him, and this mornin' the judge'll tell everyone yer mine, and tonight we can go home."
Jubilee settled against his comforting bulk with a sigh. Logan felt her lean against him, and looked down at her. "Uh…"
She turned and looked ruefully at the back of her shift, which had a large stain on it. "They don't have anything for me to change with, here," she said softly.
Logan sighed. "Hey, sheriff, ya got any laws what says I can't go buy her some stuff to take care of her…female problems?" he indicated the stain.
The sheriff scratched his head. "Well, we never had a woman in here before, so there ain't no laws against it. Guess it'll be okay."
Jubilee whispered to Logan. "I brought extra in my saddle bag. Red Doe told me to carry extra cloths and an extra shift when I was riding."
"Thank God for Red Doe," Logan sighed fervently as he waited for the sheriff to let him out. He wasn't sure how he was going to handle having to go to the general store and ask for female cloths.
He had seen their saddlebags in the room at the inn, so he assumed that Remy had released their horses into the town's common pasture and claimed their stuff. He dug around in her saddlebag, found the cloths, and returned to the jail. The sheriff and Logan turned their backs while she changed out of her dirty, stained shift and underdrawers, then stood back up. She looked a little better when they turned back around, although her hair was still mussed and she still smelled a little.
She held the bundle of clothing in her hand uncertainly, having wrapped her shift around the soiled cloths. "What do I do with this?" she asked.
Logan held out a hand. "I'll take it out to the refuse pit outside town." She handed it to him, and watched as he left the jail with it.
She sat down on the straw and winced at the ache in her back. She hurt, but she knew that if he knew it would hurt Logan's heart, so she tried to keep a brave face on it. Later, when they got home, she would cry.
The door opened, and she looked up, expecting to see Logan. Instead, the Railmaster came in. She scrambled backward until her back was against the back wall of the cell, and stared with huge, frightened eyes as he came to a stop in front of her cell. A slow, ugly smile spread across her face. "My, aren't you a sight for my eyes," he said. "You put on a little flesh, and you got a little taller. Freedom seems to agree with you, eh?" he laughed unpleasantly. "Don't worry, it's only fleeting. Tonight you'll be back with me, where you belong, and being used for the purpose I picked you up." He laughed. "Stand up, girl, and let me see what you look like now."
She didn't budge, and his smile wavered. "Stand up, girl," he snapped. "You want me to whip you for disobedience?"
She stood slowly, and the man turned to the sheriff. "Open this door for me, will ya, sheriff?" he said. "Want to inspect my property."
The sheriff unlocked the door, but he said, "She's not your property yet, mister. She belongs to the town justice until the magistrate decides if she goes with you or the other fellow."
"That's Mister Walbrook, sheriff,' the Railmaster said. "Name's Walbrook."
As he stepped in, Jubilee shrank against the wall, shrinking visibly. He grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her out to the middle of the cell, and snapped, "Strip." She stared at him, numb with shock and terror, and then looked imploringly at the sheriff. The man shrugged.
"I said strip!" Walbrook shouted, grabbing for one shoulder of her dress and yanking on it, baring one shoulder. She started to slowly pull the thin garment over her head.
"Hold it," came a low growl from the door. She saw Logan coming back in. "Don't do it. I am ordering you not to strip for him. Do as I say!" She dropped the hem of her dress hastily.
Walbrook turned to Logan. "You got no right to order my slave not to follow my order, Mister Logan," he said nastily. "She's not yours."
Logan snapped, "She is mine! I bought her offa ya fer a damn penny, an' ya know it! The deputy's gonna tell the magistrate, an' the magistrate's gonna give her ta me. Ya got no rights ta her, an' ya know it!" Logan snarled, advancing on the man. "Yer a damn liar, tellin' everybody she run away!"
"She is a runaway," Walbrook shot back venomously. "And when I get her back I'm going to make sure she never runs again. I'm taking her legs off under the knee. She don't need 'em for what I done branded her to do!"
Logan exploded. "Yeah, she tol' me 'bout that. Yer a sick bastard, ta brand a little helpless girl who can't fight back. An' ya let them other slaves rape her, an' that's worse!"
"Ain't rape," the man sneered. "She's not a human, so it's not rape. Do you call it rape when your stud mounts one of your mares? No."
Logan grabbed the belt knife from his hip and drew it. "Take them words back, or I'll make ya take 'em back!" he snarled.
The sheriff intervened. "Hey, hey!" he unlocked the door to the cell and waited for Walbrook to step out. "No bloodshed, or I'm going to have to arrest both of you! Get out!" He looked at the clock. "Time for court to open, so you all gotta get to the courthouse!" he took a set of shackles from the wall and snapped them around Jubilee's wrists and ankles.
The courtroom was packed. Remy was sitting next to a big hulking brute of a man who smelled like sour whiskey and hating every minute of it when the door opened and John Logan came in. He was followed by a well-dressed, impeccably-groomed man wearing a suit and tie. Remy was glad he'd given Logan one of his spare shirts, so the welts from his whipping didn't show. He still made a dusty, scruffy appearance next to the wealthy railroad construction master.
The judge banged his gavel. "Court will now come to order. We are here today to ascertain ownership of slave 87264. Will all interested parties step forward?"
Logan and the man in the suit stepped up to the rail as the bailiff led the little girl in. Remy sat back. Logan had found some more clothes for her, and she looked decent now, if terrified.
The man in the suit spoke first. "Your Honor, the slave is rightfully mine. I had the smith put her collar on, and I have been feeding her and clothing her and sheltering her. This man, John Logan…he walked into the square while I was disciplining her for disobedience, took my whip away, untied her, and rode off with her."
The magistrate interrupted him. "So she did not actually run away, as you claimed, but was stolen."
Walbrook looked taken aback. "Magistrate, she still spent almost two months away from me, and the law says a slave is not to sleep apart from the master."
The magistrate nodded. "What is your side of the story?" he asked Logan. Logan told him, and then the judge said, "Have you any witnesses to support your claim?"
Logan blinked. "Yer Honor, yer deputy can tell ya that practically everybody in town heard me tell this man here that I was buyin' her offa him fer a penny, and they heard him say he accepted."
"Have you a bill of sale?"
"It was a verbal agreement."
The Judge turned to Walbrook. "Mr. Walbrook, have you any papers confirming your ownership of this slave?"
Walbrook looked uncomfortable. "Uh, not exactly,' he said.
The judge's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, not exactly?"
Walbrook shifted uncomfortably. "I was passin' through a camp of indentured servants that was attacked by a pack of Indians, and she was the only one left. I took her into my train of slaves, and when we got here I had her branded and collared. She was quiet, and I thought she couldn't speak, so I never got a chance ta ask her what her name was for the papers."
The judge sat back. "In other words, this slave is not yours either."
"She's mine because I found her, judge. If it wasn't for me she would have starved to death in a camp full of rotting corpses."
The judge tapped his gavel. "In response to your claim, Mr. Logan, my deputy found no one in the town who was willing to give a written statement as to the verbal agreement between yourself and the other claimant. He found it difficult to get any details from the townsfolk in Jonesboro at all."
"Your Honor, I have brought a witness who will testify that there was no agreement between Mr. Logan and myself," Walbrook said. He extended a hand behind him.
The big man beside Remy stood up, and Remy frowned. He was dressed in the same kind of dusty clothes that Logan was dressed in, yet last night Remy had seen him downing almost two dollars' worth of good whiskey. He narrowed his eyes. He believed Logan.
The judge peered at the big man. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Grant Hunter, Your Honor, I run the general store back in Jonesboro. I never heard Mr. Logan tell Mr. Walbrook he was going to give him money for the girl, I never saw money change hands, and he just took off with her like it was nobody's business." He sat back down.
The judge's eyebrows did a little dance. "So noted." He turned to Logan. "Stealing a slave, or helping a slave escape, is a serious offence, Mr. Logan. You will pay a fine totaling one thousand dollars, or spend six months in jail if you cannot pay. As for the slave in question," he cleared his throat as Logan stared open-mouthed, in shock, "Since she has no papers, I shall award her to Mr. Walbrook, as he is the one who collared and branded her, thus signifying ownership…"
Remy heard the girl scream in terror and panic, and ignored the rest of the legalese. He had to act fast. Slipping his hand into his coat, he brought out a thin, small, sharp dagger, and sent it thudding into the wooden seat between Hunt's legs, very close to the man's privates. "Why you lie, homme?" he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Hunt's face turned a pasty shade of white as he realized that the dagger was pinning the crotch of his trousers to the seat. "I…I ain't lying, mister…"
Another of Remy's throwing daggers appeared, a short distance away from the other one. Hunt gasped, sweat popping out on his forehead. Remy had lightly nicked the skin on his privates. "You lyin' now," Remy hissed, his eyes glittering. "What dat fancy guy offer you, eh? Tell you you can ride dat poor mademoiselle if you tell lies?" He reached for the second dagger, yanked it out of the seat, and played with it, letting the light wink off the dagger blade. "Want to tell de trut', Monsieur? Or maybe you rat'er I cut somet'ing off, den you not going to be riding no woman anymore, non?" he held the dagger poised over the man's privates. "What you decide, monsieur?"
Hunt gave a strangled gasp as the dagger slipped into the thin, worn fabric and pricked him gently. "No, don't, don't do that, okay, I'll tell the judge…" Remy withdrew the knife, then planted a foot on top of the man's shoe. Muscles honed by years of working on the tobacco and cotton plantations in Louisiana ground his foot inexorably on top of the storekeeper's arch, and the man gave a howl of pain and stood up quickly, trying to get his foot out from under Remy's. He could have saved himself the trouble; Remy's foot wasn't going anywhere.
The bailiff was holding a crying, struggling, screaming Jubilee as Walbrook walked toward her, and the sheriff was holding Logan back. "Don't touch her!" Logan was shouting. "You bastard, how dare you…"
Hunt's shriek filled the courtroom, and every head turned toward him as he jumped up. The judge turned to him. "Have you anything further to add to your testimony, Mr. Hunter?" Remy ground his foot down a little more firmly.
"Uh, I…uh, Your Honor…" Hunt looked down. Remy was looking at him with the same expression of surprised interest everyone else had, but his heel was continuing to grind Hunt's foot bones into powder. Or so it felt. No one had noticed; in the shadows under the chairs it was hard to tell. "Uh, yes, Your Honor, I…I have something to add. I, uh, might…ahem…have, uh, been a little mistaken about the agreement…I think I may have heard…" the foot ground down harder, and Hunt had to fight not to double over and groan. "Yes, yes, I distinctly heard Mr. Logan tell Mr. Walbrook he was going to give him a penny for the girl, and I did hear Mr. Walbrook say he accepted." Walbrook turned to Hunt, his face dark with fury, but Hunt didn't care, the pain in his foot was gone, and the little knives threatening his manhood had disappeared to wherever they'd come from. He sat down with a sigh of relief, groaning, and Remy returned to his lazy, unconcerned slouch against the back of the seat.
Walbrook had his hands around Jubilee's neck, choking off her cries of terror and anguish as he stared murderously at Hunt. His hands tightened, and she made horrible choking sounds, her face going red. The judge nodded to the bailiff, and the bailiff stepped forward. "Sir, remove your hands from her neck," the bailiff said, and Walbrook, after shaking her once, angrily, dropped her. For a moment there was no sound in the courtroom but her harsh, tortured breathing.
