Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry rode leisurely through the the lower, forested land of the high Cache Mountains. Below them, visible yet still miles away, lay the Cache Valley and the town of Logan, Utah, a predominantly Mormon community. It was early June and much of the winter's snow had melted in the warming sun, swelling streams and rivers, and penetrating the rich valley ground land, making it now prime for summer crops.
Cache was a French term meaning 'to hide or stow one's treasures,' and the mountains and valley were bestowed that name because of the beaver population that the trappers had nearly depleted by the end of the 1820s. Europeans were willing to pay high prices for such pelts, and the trappers would dig holes and bury their pelts and other treasures until such time as they were ready to head to the trading posts to sell their cache at the end of the season.
The Cache mountains at that time were the home to the Shoshone Indians, but by the time Heyes and Curry ventured into the area, the population of Shoshone had been drastically reduced through wars and Treaty relocation. Many small bands of Indians remained, but uprisings were rare and travel relatively safe.
Kid's horse nickered and tugged at the bit and Kid lowered his arms to ease the tension and the chestnut settled almost immediately. Kid leaned slightly forward and rested one arm on the saddle horn as they continued along at a pace comfortable to the horses as well as to themselves.
"You know, Heyes, being a Mormon town, there ain't gonna be no gambling or liquor."
"I thought of that. But one night won't kill us, Kid. Besides, we've been eating burnt rabbit for a week now. A real meal and a nice soft bed sounds almost as good as a whiskey and round of poker."
"What day is it?"
"Saturday, I think."
"So tomorrow is Sunday. Think there are any rules about going to Church?"
Heyes considered this but only for Kid's benefit. "Maybe, but they probably only apply to the Mormons, and they call it a Tabernacle, not a Church."
"Whatever they call it, I just don't want to risk getting saddled down with three or four wives, Heyes," Kid said in obvious jest.
"That's funny Kid, cause I would think having multiple wives would be the very thing to give you the divine calling into the Mormon faith."
Kid shook his head and gave the chestnut a nudge as he moved into the lead ahead of his partner.
The town of Logan had been founded in 1859 when Brigham Young had sent groups of settlers into the valley to build a fort along the Logan River. This quickly led to the construction of the town, carefully planned out with wide streets and a sound grid system. By the time Heyes and Curry ventured into Logan, the town had a population of nearly ten thousand, ninety percent of whom were Mormon.
The Mormon Tabernacle was located in the center of town and was a large, sprawling structure occupying nearly three city blocks. Just two years before their arrival, The Brigham Young College had been founded and, though it was only comprised of three or four two-story buildings, the college was housed on enough land that anyone with vision could see a very large university in the school's future.
Heyes and Curry rode slowly down the main street, carefully taking in all the town had to offer. While there were no saloons or gambling establishments, there were two theaters, a wide variety of specialty shops, two liveries, three hotels, two bath houses, and at least a dozen restaurants. They were also observant of the jail, the courthouse, and the as yet uncompleted police station.
"I thought Mormons were pretty law abiding," Kid said as they turned down a side street and headed toward a less obtrusive two story building with a painted wooden sign identifying it as a hotel.
"Maybe Mormons are, but visitors ain't," Heyes replied.
They pulled their horses up to the hitching post and dismounted. It felt good to be out of the saddle and both found themselves pining for a cold beer. Instead, they registered for a room and carried their gear up to the second floor.
"Heyes, if I can't have a beer, the next best thing is a cigar and a hot bath," Kid said as he plopped himself down on the bed to assess it's comfort.
"I hate to disappoint you Kid, but Mormons feel the same way about tobacco as they do about alcohol."
"You mean no cigar and no liquor?"
"I didn't say that, Kid."
Curiosity being peaked, Kid pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. "What exactly are you saying?"
"Kid, you know I like to read those Mark Twain books."
"What's Mark Twain got to do with tobacco and alcohol?"
"Well, Mark Twain spent a considerable amount of time in the west, and his stories often talk about a lot of interesting and little known facts."
"Such as?"
"Such as something called "Valley Tan."
"What's Valley Tan, Heyes?"
"Mormons are very strict about not consuming any alcohol of any kind. But they are far less strict about...making alcohol."
"Mormons have distilleries?"
Heyes nodded. "And apparently they are pretty common."
Kid was now very interested in the conversation. "Where do we find one of these places, Heyes?"
"I thought maybe the desk clerk could lead us in the right direction."
Kid's smile filled his face. "Heyes, you're a genius, and I'm gaining some interest in this Mark Twain fellow, though I still think he's using an alias. But he sure does give the reader some useful information."
"Come on, Kid. Let' go check it out."
They headed down the stairs and walked up to the hotel desk.
"Excuse me, but my friend and I recently heard about something called Valley Tan. I was wondering where we might go to find this product?"
"Mister, just about every farm outside of the city limits makes Valley Tan. Take any road out of town and watch for the barley fields. There will be a Valley Tan distributor in the next house you come across."
Heyes smiled cordially at the clerk. "Thank you," he said and turned to his partner. "Come on, Thaddeus."
The two men walked out and climbed into their saddles, pulled on the reins, and followed the street out of town. They had traveled no more than two miles out of town when barley fields came into view on both sides of the road. Given the early time of the year, the growth was young and obviously harvest time was a good two months away, but this did not deter them from stopping at the first house they came upon.
"I understand there is such a thing as Valley Tan," Heyes said when a middle aged farmer answered the door.
"How much are you interested in buying?" the man asked.
Heyes looked at Kid and then back to the farmer. "Just a bottle, maybe two."
The farmer opened the door and stepped out on to the porch.
"What I have left is out in the barn. Follow me,"
They followed the man out to the barn where they saw every wall lined with wooden wine racks, many still stocked with a bottle of last year's Valley Tan supply. The farmer pulled two bottles from the racks and handed them to Kid.
"What do we owe you?" Heyes asked.
"Ten dollars."
Heyes reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar gold piece and handed it to the farmer.
"I'm curious," Heyes said, "If you don't consume the Valley Tan, why do you make it?"
"There's a market for it. It's not my place to judge the decisions of another man."
Heyes nodded and smiled.
"I will caution you Sir, this is a very potent brew. Use it wisely."
"Oh, we will, we will," Kid assured him.
They headed back to their horses and Kid packed the bottles into his saddlebags before they headed back to town.
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Near noon the next day, Kid was still passed out from the Valley Tan and lay sprawled across his bed. Heyes was awake and dressed, but dealing with a horrific hangover when there was a loud knocking on the door.
Cringing and covering his ears, Heyes went to the door.
"Who is it?"
"Sheriff Osmond. Best open the door, son."
Heyes sighed heavily and opened the door, trying desperately to present an alert, healthy image.
"What can I do for you, Sheriff?" Heyes asked as the tall, stoutly built man brushed by Heyes to enter the room. He spied the nearly empty bottle of Valley Tan on the dresser.
"Well, son, I'm afraid you are both under arrest"
"For what?" Heyes asked and glanced at his still sleeping partner, oblivious to the situation.
"Well, you see, there's a law in this town that stipulates absolutely no liquor within the city limits."
"But, we're in our hotel room," Heyes protested.
"Yes you are. And your hotel room is within the city limits. Guess you should be waking up your friend there."
"My friend? But Sheriff, he hasn't had any liquor."
"Sure looks like he's had more than his share."
Heyes shook his head. "No, Sir. Thaddeus there...has been sick. He's been sick for a couple of weeks.
"Tom Brigham didn't mention anything about him being sick."
"Who?"
"The fellow you bought the Valley Tan from."
"Well, see, Sheriff, that's the other thing. Thaddeus didn't buy the Valley Tan. I did."
"What's wrong with your friend?"
"Well, he... He had the measles a couple of weeks back and he just hasn't gotten all his strength back yet."
"Measles?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Ain't you afraid of getting the measles?"
"Oh, no Sir. You see I had them as a child. So I'm immune."
"I ain't heard of no measles outbreaks around here recently."
"No, it a...it was back in Denver. We took the train to Salt Lake City just a few days ago."
Sheriff Osmond looked at Kid who had not moved so much as a muscle.
"Well, I guess you're coming with me, son."
"Can I leave my friend a note, Sheriff? Explaining where I am?"
"Be quick about it."
Heyes quickly scribbled a note and propped it on the table against the nearly empty Valley Tan bottle. Then, leaving his gun belt still hanging on the bed post, Heyes walked out of the room with the Sheriff.
Sometime around two in the afternoon, Kid began to stir. He tried to open heavy eyes but was met with only moderate success. A few minutes later he moved his arms awkwardly and managed to raise himself up on his elbows and he glanced around the room for his partner, but didn't see him. But the effort was exhausting and Kid dropped back down on the mattress and surrendered himself back to a semiconscious state of sleep.
Another two hours passed and Kid again woke, this time with a bit more awareness and control. Kid's head felt like everything inside was bursting at the seams, his movements slow and deliberate. But with effort, he was able to sit on the edge of the bed and, for once, Kid was grateful he had fallen asleep fully clothed. Kid cautiously bent down and grabbed his boots and slipped them on his feet. Then, cautiously, Kid stood and was thankful to discover the room was not spinning.
Only then did Kid realize Heyes was still not in the room and he became alarmed when he saw Heyes' gun belt hanging on the bedpost. Strapping on his own gun, Kid noticed the note propped against the liquor bottle. The note was rather vague and simply said "took a walk with the Sheriff. Told him about your measles. Joshua."
Reading between the lines, Kid naturally surmised the worst. He crumpled the note and slowly made his way out of the room and down the stairs. Kid tried to smile when he saw the same clerk who had been working the day before and he approached the desk.
"Did Mr. Smith mention where he might have gone?" Kid asked.
"He left with the Sheriff around noon Mr. Jones."
"I see, You know where I can get a cup of coffee?" Kid asked.
"If you don't mind my saying, you do look like you need one," the clerk replied and motioned to Kid to wait a moment as he headed into the back office and returned with a cup of black coffee.
Kid drank the coffee as quickly as the temperature of the brew would allow. Then he headed out the door and down the street to the Sheriff's office.
As soon as he spied Kid walking in the door, Heyes was up and standing at the cell bars.
"Why is my friend in jail?' Kid the Sheriff.
"Broke the law."
"How?"
"Drinking alcohol within the city limits."
"He was in his hotel room." Kid replied.
"And his hotel room happens to be within the city limits."
"So, when does he get out?"
"Circuit Judge will be here the day after tomorrow. He'll hear the evidence and issue a fine and a sentence."
"And then he can get out?"
"That will depend on the length of the sentence and when your friend can pay the fine."
"How much will the fine likely be?"
"That's usually reflective of the amount of liquor that was bought and brought into town."
"So...ten dollars?"
"Probably more like...a thousand. Then there's the cost for the room and board during his stay here."
"A thousand! Why?"
"Well you see, Logan is a pretty quiet and peaceful town and most of the folks here are Mormon. Now, Mormon's are very good at abiding by the laws of their religion and the laws of the town. That means the jail here ain't commonly very busy."
"Is there more to this explanation, Sheriff, cause I'm not seeing the logic here."
"You might have noticed when you rode in here yesterday, that this is a well maintained little town. We got a fine courthouse, good roads, a well stocked library, well, you get the picture. All them things takes money to maintain and upgrade. All the fines we collect go directly into the city budget."
"And...since you don't get much business...you just charge hefty fines?"
"It's all legal, all part of the city laws and ordinances."
"How much is the room and board?"
"Two dollars a day."
"Sheriff, can I talk to my friend?"
"You gotta leave your gun here with me but, well are you sure you should be up an about so soon, son?"
"So soon?"
"Well Mr. Smith tells me you're recovering from a bout of the measles."
"Almost three weeks ago, Sheriff," Heyes called from across the room.
"Doc says I can do whatever I'm feeling up to," Kid stammered.
"Alright. Leave your gun and you can go talk to him."
Kid set his gun on the desk and walked over to the cell.
"Where am I supposed to come up with a thousand dollars?" Kid snarled at his partner in a low voice.
"We still got that other bottle of Valley Tan?"
"Yeah?" Kid said skeptically.
"Maybe you could ride up into the mountains with it and sell it to the Indians."
"They would pay me in beads and trinkets, not a thousand U.S. Dollars," Kid snarled again.
"Horses and saddles would bring in two, maybe two hundred and fifty dollars," Heyes said, trying to think of a source of money.
"That's still just a drop in the bucket, and there ain't no poker to be played, so don't go thinking down those lines."
"The collection plates at the Tabernacle likely bring in a good haul."
Kid glared at his partner. "Are you suggesting I steal the money...from Mormons?"
Heyes quickly shook his head, realizing that was just a desperate thought. "The fine for stealing from the Mormon collection plate would likely end up with you doing your twenty years right here."
"I appreciate you realizing that."
"Kid, how much money you got?"
"Not nearly enough."
"No, I mean do you have enough to get by for a couple of days?"
Kid nodded.
"Well, give me the night to think about it. I'll see if I can come up with something."
Kid nodded and stepped away from the cell and picked up his gun.
"Thank you, Sheriff," Kid said as he headed for the door.
"You get some rest, son. You still don't look too well."
Kid nodded and gave the Sheriff and Heyes a dismissive wave of his hand.
When Kid returned to the hotel, he started to take the path around to the privy, but suddenly had second thoughts and instead, went directly to his room. He picked up the nearly empty bottle of Valley Tan and walked over to the vanity where he poured water from the wash basin into the liquor bottle, spilling a sizable amount of water on the floor. Kid grabbed the blanket off of Heyes' bed and used it to mop of the spilled water. Then he corked the liquor bottle and placed it in his saddle bags with the still full bottle. Kid draped the saddle bags over his shoulder and headed out to the privy where he dropped both bottles into the sewage well where they both made a rather thick splashing noise as they hit the sludge and slowly sank down into the sewage. Kid smiled, glad to be well rid of the cause of their current predicament.
Kid climbed into bed, still feeling the grogginess of the slowly ebbing hangover. He clasped his hands behind his head and drifted to sleep before coming up with any useful ideas as to how to come up with over a thousand dollars.
When he woke the following morning, Kid was feeling much better and very hungry. Having been living and sleeping in the same clothes for two days and two nights, Kid changed his pants and shirt and headed downstairs for some breakfast.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jones," the clerk called to him as he headed toward the dining room.
Kid stopped and walked over to the desk. "Is there something you wanted?"
"Were you planning on checking out today, Sir?"
"No. Why?"
"It's just that when you and your friend arrived, you only paid for one night."
"Ah," Kid said and reached into his pocket. "So, I owe you for last night and tonight, then."
"Then you'll be leaving tomorrow?"
"It don't look real likely, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Of course, Mr. Jones."
Kid then started toward the dining room but stopped when he realized breakfast would likely be a tad less expensive at the diner across the street.
After he had eaten, Kid headed back to the jail to see if Heyes had come up with any ideas.
Unfortunately, he had not.
"I just don't understand how a person visiting a town could possibly be expected to know and follow all the laws written specifically for that town," Heyes grumbled.
"Don't think it much matters if you understand that or not," Kid replied and turned his head away in thought. As he did, he spied the usual wanted posters on the wall and gave Heyes the usual signal.
Heyes nodded. He had already made that discovery. "Listen, maybe you ought to stay away till the hearing tomorrow. Sheriff says I'm scheduled for one in the afternoon."
"Being as you're the only one in jail, what's filling up the Judge's morning?" Kid asked.
Heyes just shrugged and shook his head.
"Think maybe I should send a telegram to Soapy or Silky, or even Big Mac and tell em we need money?" Kid asked.
"No. We can do that as a last resort if we have to, but I don't want any of them thinking we can''t handle things ourselves, or that we are always going to one of them for money."
"Well, I could get a job and you'd only be living here for a couple of years while I pay off your fine," Kid said in a poor attempt at humor.
"Room and board alone for two years would come to almost fifteen hundred dollars. That would have to be a pretty darn good job."
"Damn, Heyes," Kid said in a whispered voice. "You're more expensive upkeep than my horse, and that includes stable fees."
"Sheriff!" Heyes shouted, giving Kid quite a start.
"What do you want, son?"
"You got paper and something I can write with?"
"Is this a last will you got in mind or just a couple of chicken scratches?"
"A couple of scratches."
Sheriff Osmond reached into his desk and brought Heyes a pencil and piece of paper.
"Kid, there's a college here."
"So?"
"So, you go over there and see of they have a School of Law."
"How do I find that out?"
"Go to the Admissions Office and ask. If they do, go there and ask to talk to the Dean of the Law School. Ask him if he has some very bright student that's close to graduating, that would be interested in gaining a little courtroom experience."
"You want some kid still in school to be your lawyer?"
Heyes smiled. "I can't afford a graduate lawyer, but even a kid close to graduating is gonna know more about the law than we do."
"More about the law? I didn't think there was anyone who knew more about the law than we do."
Heyes shoved the note through the bars and thrust it into Kid's hands. "Hurry up about it. There's not much time to waste."
Kid was aware of the urgency of the situation and, with the note carefully tucked in his shirt pocket, Kid hurried to the Mormon College where he quickly located the Admissions Office.
"I was wondering if you had..." Kid began as he pulled the note from his pocket. "I was wondering if you had a School of Law at this College?"
The man behind the desk at the Admissions Office carefully scrutinized Kid. "Are you interested in seeking admission to our Law School?" he asked.
"Oh, no Sir. I'm interested in hiring one of your students."
The man looked a bit perplexed. "Are you already a lawyer, Sir?"
"No, Sir. But I have a friend that would like to be a...client."
"A client of one of our students?"
"Yes Sir. Could you direct me to the..." Kid looked at the note again. "The Dean of the Law School?"
"The second floor of the building at the far end of the campus."
"Thank you, Sir."
Kid headed out of the building and across the expansive campus to the building at the far end of the campus. There he climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked the length of the hall looking for the Dean's Office. Knocking on the door, Kid was greeted by a bellowing voice instructing him to enter.
"Are you the Dean of the Law School?" Kid asked the tall but very stout man sitting at a desk, nearly buried behind several tall stacks of legal books.
"I am. And who might you be?"
"Thaddeus Jones, Sir," Kid said extending his hand
The man reached over a stack of books to shake Kid's hand. "I am Professor, Percival Ashcroft, Dean of Law at this fine institution. What might I do for you Mr. Jones?"
Kid proceeded to describe his partner's predicament. "We can't afford to pay a lawyer and Mr. Smith thought perhaps one of your student's might like a little courtroom experience and just might be able to help us out at the same time."
"Yes, I see. The situation your friend is in is not common, but certainly not unheard of in this community. The Sheriff and the Circuit Judge have found a rather lucrative loophole. Oh, not for their own personal gain, and nothing that can actually be construed as illegal, mind you but, I believe even a first year law student would be able to present a most convincing argument."
"Does that mean my friend could actually...win...his case?"
"I doubt that your friend could, but certainly a few of my current students could present the Judge with valid arguments and could certainly come up with the legal precedence supporting this case. In fact, I might even enjoy such an experience. Is your friend familiar with the Eighth Amendment Mr. Jones?"
"The what, Sir?"
"The Eighth Amendment. It is a Constitutional Law that precisely stipulates that excessive bail shall not be required nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel or unusual punishments be inflicted."
"And that's a Law?"
"A very important Law."
"Would you be able to recommend one of your students to help my friend, maybe explain that law to the Judge?"
Ashcroft smiled. "When does your friend appear before the Circuit Judge?"
"Tomorrow afternoon at one."
"That doesn't give us much time, but perhaps I can arrange to assign several students to your friend's case, for extra credit. I tell you what, Mr. Jones. I will contact several of my students and those willing to assist, and myself of course, will pay Mr. Smith a visit this evening."
"He's in the jail."
"Of course he is."
"Thank you Mr. Ashcroft."
"Think nothing of it, Mr. Jones. It's always a pleasure to...enlighten a Judge to the proper interpretation of the law."
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Late that afternoon Professor Ashcroft and three of his second year students visited the jail to speak with the incarcerated man who Ashcroft referred to as Mr. Smith. Professor Ashcroft and Sheriff Osmond were well acquainted as both attended the Mormon Tabernacle, but aside from their religious affiliation, they did not travel in the same circles. Professor Ashcroft explained to the Sheriff that he, and his students were there to provide Mr. Smith with "pro bono" services.
"Mr. Smith, I understand from speaking with your friend Mr. Jones, that you have been charged with possession and use of an alcoholic beverage withing the Logan City limits," Ashcroft began.
"That's right. Valley Tan. And it was consumed in my hotel room, not out in public."
"Did anyone witness your consumption of this alcohol?"
"My partner. He was also in the room."
"That would be Mr. Jones?"
Heyes nodded.
"Was he also consuming the Valley Tan?"
Heyes nodded. "He was."
"But he wasn't arrested?"
Heyes shook his head. "I told the Sheriff Mr. Jones had been ill recently and the sheriff never even asked him if he was drinking the liquor."
"Were either of you aware of the City's law regarding the possession or use of alcohol within the city limits?" one of the students asked.
"Heyes nodded his awareness. "But we thought that meant it couldn't be consumed out in public, you know, out in the street or a park or something."
"And it has been suggested to you that the fine for said consumption is a large enough fine for you to deem it...excessive?" Professor Ashcroft asked.
"That's right. I was told the fine would be at least a thousand dollars as well as two dollars a day for every day I am in jail."
"Mr. Smith, are you familiar with an addition to the Constitution known as the Bill of Rights?"
"I've heard of that. Don't know what it contains, though."
"Well, the one that pertains to you is the Eighth Amendment that addresses Cruel and Unusual Punishment. It is most widely used in court as a means of ensuring the defendant does not receive a punishment exceeding the severity of the crime committed, but it also ensures that fines are not unreasonable. These are three of my top students and they will be up tonight researching precedents that we might argue during your hearing tomorrow, provided you so consent."
"Oh, yes, you certainly have my permission Professor Ashcroft. Thank you and thank you to your three students as well."
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The courtroom was nearly vacant with Kid being the only spectator, Heyes, Professor Ashcroft and three law students sitting at the Defense table, and Sheriff Osmond sitting directly behind Thomas Hartley, the Prosecuting Attorney. Everyone rose when Judge Romney walked into the room and took his seat behind the bench.
"Mr. Smith, you have been charged with the consumption of an alcoholic beverage within the Logan City limits. How do you plea?"
"Your Honor," Professor Ashcroft said as he rose from the table and motioned to Heyes to remain seated and quiet. "Our client does not dispute the fact that he did indeed consume Valley Tan in the confines of his hotel room on the evening of the eighth of this current month."
"Fine," Judge Romney replied. "Then this court fines you one thousand dollars and reprimands you back to the jail at the cost of two dollars per day until such time as this fine is paid in full"
"However, your Honor, the Council for Mr. Smith feels compelled to remind the Court that both the Eighth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States and the Magna Charta stipulate that the fine for any crime must bear some relationship to the gravity of the offense it is designated to punish."
"And you don't believe Mr. Smith's fine is representative of the crime committed?"
"What I believe is of no consequence to the Court."
"That statement is certainly correct, Counselor."
"It is the law in accordance with the United States Constitution that identifies the Court's misinterpretation of the definition of an appropriate fine for the offense incurred."
"I'm listening," the Judge replied.
"Both Mr. Smith and the farmer who sold the Valley Tan to Mr. Smith have indicated that the transaction involved a monetary value of only ten dollars. Even a fine of ten times that amount might be considered disproportionate to the crime, but the fine issued by this court is one hundred times that amount. Now, Mr. Smith confined his drinking to within the confines of his room. There was no display of public intoxication, no property damage, no injury of any kind. Supplementing the city's budget by abusing the U.S Constitution is an act that the Eighth Amendment certainly discourages and even prevents."
Judge Romney was not a stupid man and he well understood Professor Ashcroft's unspoken intention of taking the case to a high court, perhaps as far as the Supreme Court if necessary.
"It is not within my authority Mr. Ashcroft, to make or even opine the local city's laws, but rather to see to it that such laws are abided by and enforced. However, this Court also retains the right to, in fact the obligation, to adhere to Constitutional Law over State or Local law. I am calling for a thirty minute recess, during which time lawyers for both the defense and prosecution will meet with me in my chambers."
The Judge and the lawyers quickly disappeared into the Judge's chambers. Kid leaned forward in his seat and whispered to Heyes and the law students.
"What just happened?" Kid asked.
"I think Professor Ashcroft just scared the bajeebers out of Judge Romney," one of the students replied. "Taking the issue of the fine to a higher court could have serious consequences for Judge Romney."
"So, you think the Judge will lower the fine?" Kid asked.
"Might even eliminate it," one of the students replied.
"Joshua, if he lets you walk out of here today, we are definitely leaving town right away."
"Oh, you know it, Kid."
Thirty minutes later Judge Romney resumed his seat at the bench and the two lawyers returned to their respective tables.
"Mr. Smith," Judge Romney said. "In light of some information indirectly related to this case, I have decided to waive all but ten dollars of your fine. As soon as you pay the bailiff, you are free to go."
"Thank you, your Honor."
Judge Romney looked at Sheriff Osmond who was sitting with his mouth open, a look of bewilderment on his face.
"Court is adjourned." Judge Romney said slamming his gavel hard on the block.
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Between them Heyes and Curry were able to come up with the ten dollars for the fine and an hour after court ended, they had their gear packed and were sitting in their saddles ready to leave town.
"Let's stop by Professor Ashcroft's Office, Kid. I want to thank him proper."
Kid led Heyes up the stairs and down the hall to Professor Ashcroft's office and knocked on the door.
"It's open."
They walked in and Dr. Ashcroft stood and peered over the stacks of law books.
"I see you two have had your fill of our fine little city?" He asked.
"Well, just don't want to overstay our welcome," Kid replied with a smile.
"And I just want to thank you again for you help," Heyes said.
"You know, as a lawyer, it is always a very satisfying experience to ...enlighten...a Judge, gentlemen. In fact, I think this occasion deserves a fitting acknowledgment."
Dr. Ashcroft leaned down an opened a drawer of his desk and withdrew a bottle of Valley Tan an three glasses, He carefully filled each glass and handed one to each of the outlaws.
"To the sanctity of the law," he declared raising his own glass in the air.
Heyes and Curry smiled and the three glasses touched before each man drank his drink.
"So, citizens can imbibe a bit without repercussions?" Heyes asked.
"Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Smith. But when this school was founded, the property was very carefully excluded from being considered within the city limits. The school is a little island in and of itself."
"Pretty smart thinking by the planners," Heyes replied.
"Indeed, gentlemen... Indeed.
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Author's Note: The American Bar association was established in 1878. Years prior to that, lawyers often learned their trade by apprenticeship, much like early frontier doctors. The American Bar Association pushed to have a minimum of 2 years of Law School education as a requirement to become a practicing lawyer.
Liberties were taken in this story regarding the Brigham Young College. From 1877-1894 the college served as a Normal School. From 1894 to 1909 a Bachelor's Degrees could be earned, and from 1909 to its closing in 1926, the school served as a two year Junior College.
I must admit, more than a few liberties were taken in the telling of this story.