Buck's head was pounding. His clarity of vision could best be described as intermittent. His sense of balance was so messed up he could hardly stand. And, when he did stand, he had to be almighty careful about it, or the agony that shot through him one side to the other would send him to the floor.
He didn't know when, how or why Teaspoon and the others had arrived, or what reason they had for getting involved with his problems. Teaspoon assured him the mochila had been recovered and delivered by now, and it was pretty clear Buck wouldn't be riding again any time soon. Nothing other than misguided charity or, more galling, pity seemed likely to be motivating them.
If Ike had been there, he would've understood. He and Ike were like brothers. They looked out for each other, and if one had troubles, then they both had that trouble together. But Teaspoon said he'd made Ike stay back at the Waystation. Ike was too mad, he said, to do anything down here but get Buck in more trouble, and maybe himself as well while he was at it. That sounded like Ike. He was gentle by nature, but nobody could cause a bigger ruckus once his match got lit than Ike.
Teaspoon had raised a bit of a ruckus himself, just about shouting down the jail for all the good it had done him, declaring a trial couldn't be held without a real judge to run it, and anything else was just a kangaroo court. The tremulous, reedy voice of the sheriff had patiently explained to him that the storm would prevent anyone from coming or going for awhile yet and, it being almost Christmas, nobody wanted to stay in the office and watch the prisoner, nor was it fair to keep him locked up for what might be the rest of the winter without having tried him.
So, first thing the day after Teaspoon and the others got into town, the saloon was taken over to serve in place of a courthouse, with the honorable Mayor Trenton standing in place of a real judge.
There had been some argument over the jury, as the men who'd brought Buck in insisted that they were his 'peers' and it was them he'd wronged so it should be their right to vote on his fate. Teaspoon had objected that they would make the most biased jury in the history of juries, and if the judge set them to it then he might as well have let them lynch Buck out where they caught him. To Teaspoon's obvious surprise, Charlie Harlow, still in control of his posse, agreed.
Next, it was suggested that the jury should consist of locals, landowners who'd proven to be responsible and thoughtful men, and who would have no opinion based on personal experience with Buck. However, a couple of voices raised in aversion to this, headed up by a man called Noah Dixon, who looked vaguely familiar to Buck for reasons undetermined. Noah contended that such a jury would be no less corrupt than the hanging posse, because Buck was an outsider and nobody in Ditchford liked those. They'd declare him guilty just to get rid of him. A riot broke out over that remark.
When things finally boiled down, Mayor Trenton actually agreed with young Noah and asked just what it was that he thought would be fair. Noah said that they could easily find twelve outsiders, including himself, who had no personal stake in Ditchford or the case. A fresh riot broke out, and finally the saloon matron promised a free shot of whiskey to anyone who didn't make any trouble in her place until after the trial and that got things quieted right away.
Buck had never seen so much fuss over nothing before. It was a white man's word versus him, and he didn't see as it mattered which people were on the jury in a case like that.
Yet, riots notwithstanding, they finally settled on the one jury that pleased absolutely no one, least of all the jury, and declared that the fairest thing of all. They decided on the twelve ladies who sang in the local church choir. It was contended that they didn't know anything about Buck or the case and, as women, they wouldn't be partial to a hanging, while as good Christians they would be determined to see justice was done, even if that did mean a hanging.
"This whole trial is nothing more than a pathetic joke," Lee complained loudly as the twelve ladies made their well-dressed way into the saloon, which they tried very hard not to look at as they were much too prim and proper to be seen in a place like this. "Who ever heard of a female jury?"
Many murmured agreement, though they remained seated. Absolutely no one liked this idea, and it was only the promise of whiskey and the summoning of the twelve upstanding and proper ladies that prevented yet another brawl.
"Be still, boy," Charlie commanded Lee. "If it had been left to you, there would have been no trial."
"You call this a trial?" Lee asked, waving a hand emphatically at the saloon tables that had been pushed together to serve as the jury box. "This is about to be a church sermon on love and forgiveness. And me without my Sunday best on."
"Shut up, Lee," his brother, Amos, growled quietly in his ear.
"Now," Mayor Trenton said, banging the wooden spoon he'd been given in place of a gavel on his table once the jury ladies were seated, "Seeing as everybody is equally unhappy about this arrangement, no one has grounds to object, so I'll call this court to order."
Settling deeper into the chair where the deputy had put him, Buck wished it were already over. He saw no reason to go through this tedious and humiliating process just to get to a conclusion that had already been decided before Lee had ever hauled him out of that gully. The very idea of what he was about to have to endure was just about enough to turn his stomach.
But nobody was giving him a choice about it, so the farce must go on.
"I was just coming back from lunch when I saw my stable was on fire," Amos Glassner explained to the court. "I knew right away an Indian had done it, but I couldn't go after him 'til after the fire was out, and that took hours because it spread to the general store next door."
"And how did you know it was an Indian?" asked Charlie Harlow, acting as the prosecutor.
Teaspoon, acting as Buck's defense, idly scratched his throat, feigning disinterest but in actuality paying the keenest of attention to everything being said.
"Well, by the tracks he left," Amos said, then seemed to recall suddenly. "And the arrow."
"Do you still have the arrow, Mr. Glassner?" Charlie asked.
"No, I don't," Amos admitted. "It burned in the fire too."
"And did anyone else see it or the tracks you mentioned?" Charlie asked.
"Sure enough," Amos nodded vigorously. "My brother Lee, he was first to the barn even before I was. He saw the arrow and the tracks plain as day."
Buck snorted quietly to himself and shook his head, while Cody and Jimmy looked at each other. Charlie Harlow had obviously pressed the matter because he knew there was evidence and a second witness. Cody and Jimmy thought it was just too bad for his case that the very evidence he'd brought to light would exonerate Buck. As for Buck, he didn't figure it made much difference what was said. Indian fever never much cared which Indian it hit, as long as they were close to hand.
Charlie asked a few other questions, then Teaspoon was asked if he wanted to cross examine, but Teaspoon declined, so they called up Lee, who made much the same testimony as Amos had, excepting that he said Amos had arrived on the scene first. Again, Charlie pressed the matter.
"When your brother was up here, he said you were first on the scene."
"Maybe that's how he remembers it, Mr. Harlow, but that ain't what happened," Lee insisted. "See, I was over to the general store lookin' at a rifle they'd just brung in when I heard him shout. That's when I ran out of the store and saw the fire." He shrugged. "Maybe I was just so close to the stable by the time he noticed that he thought I'd been there all along."
"The witness will refrain from idle speculation," Mayor Trenton intervened.
"I'm sorry, sir," Lee apologized, then persisted. "Though I don't rightly see how it makes a lick of difference."
"That's enough, Lee," Charlie rebuked him before the judge could.
One of the ladies of the jury tittered, and the lady next to her gave her hand a slap and whispered a rebuke of her own, likely declaring that a trial such as this was no laughing matter. The tittering lady covered her mouth with her hand, but continued to smile around the sides of it, though what she thought was so funny was utterly lost on Buck given that she couldn't possibly know how richly and frequently Lee deserved rebuking. Buck was too weary and hurting just sitting up to find anything amusing at the moment. His attention was wandering.
By the time his attention wandered back, Charlie had moved on to other matters.
"I'm afraid the soldier who buried the Waystation keeper could not attend given his duties at present, but I have here a signed letter to the effect that the deceased was one Harley Ellis, and that he'd been killed just a few hours before the soldier was assigned to tend the station temporarily. The accused was seen in Ft. Kearney just before, coming from that way."
Cody and Jimmy looked at one another again. It didn't sound like any proof at all to them, but that was because they knew their route. Of course Buck had gone from Ellis' station to the fort, where else would he have gone? It was about to get sillier as far as they were concerned.
Unfolding the letter, the judge adjusted his spectacles to better see the writing. He was silent for a long time, before finally looking up and saying dryly. "It says here that the accused is the one who reported the death, citing it as an apparent suicide with the victim's own gun."
"What better way to draw away suspicion?" Charlie asked. "As an express rider, he could hardly pretend to have never been there. If it had been bandits or a raiding party, they wouldn't have used his gun to kill him, would they? No, they'd have guns of their own. But lead weighs heavy, and," he paused to nod towards Teaspoon, "Mr. Hunter may feel free to correct me, but it's my understanding that a Rider can't carry much. If he were to take to murder, he'd want to save his own shot."
Buck rubbed a hand across his forehead, trying to ease the ache, while behind him Cody murmured to Jimmy that he'd never heard such a ridiculous thing in his life, the idea that one bullet more or less would make that much of a difference on a run, and Teaspoon shushed him.
"Now, no other tracks of ridden horses were found in the area but those of the one the half-breed rode and the soldier who came in later, but the station had also been divested of its stock."
"Are these the, uh, horses the defendant is accused of having stolen?" Mayor Trenton asked, hesitating as he looked at the notes he'd taken about the case thus far.
"No," Charlie shook his head. "No, sir, the soldier seemed pretty certain the horses broke out and scattered, which does align with what the defendant told him. Now, I wouldn't want to idly speculate, but I think it's probably fair to say that the horses bolted when the shot was fired."
"Careful, Mr. Harlow," the judge warned.
Charlie inclined his head in acknowledgment of having tread very close to a line on that one.
"You may continue," Mayor Trenton said after a moment.
"Thank you," Charlie said. "Now, as to the horse stealing, there was an eye witness to that, but he is also not in attendance on account of the condition he was left in by the man who robbed him."
"Has he also written a letter?" Mayor Trenton asked patiently.
"No, sir, but the man who found him and brought him in is here today to tell us what he knows of the matter, if you'll allow me to call him up," Charlie told him.
Buck felt his heart sink when he saw the next witness. It was the man from the saloon that Buck had paid to go help the old man he'd found in the gully. If he'd held out any hope of being cleared, he felt that hope evaporating. Must've been he'd managed to revive that old man better than he'd thought, and the man had mistaken him for one of those who'd bushwhacked him. There was their eyewitness to a crime. The crime of assault and robbery, including horse stealing. Even if they couldn't make all the rest stick, that was enough to be the end of him.
It was the worst slap in the face of all, but it was the only one he couldn't be angry at. He couldn't blame a wounded man for misidentifying his assailant as whoever happened to be standing over him when he was semi-conscious. It felt like the air had been knocked out of Buck all over again, just like when the horse kicked him. His shoulders slumping, Buck lowered his head and stared at the floor.
He must have looked pretty sick about it, because Teaspoon touched his shoulder and quietly asked. "What's the matter, Buck?"
Trying his best to be steady, Buck tried taking a deep breath, failed because of his busted up insides, controlled a reflexive painful cough and just shook his head.
"I can't help you if I don't know what happened," Teaspoon told him. "Why won't you talk to me?"
It wasn't that he hadn't tried. But, somehow, his insides were just all tied up in knots and he could hardly speak. He had a voice, but it was all locked up inside him and couldn't get out. The more he wanted to say, the less he seemed able. Anyway, it didn't matter. Nothing he said was going to change what was about to happen to him.
He just shook his head again, as the witness to hang him took the stand.