Clay Poynter sat as if perfectly astounded at these words; then, as he recovered from the shock and glanced around him, he could read in the faces of all that he was deemed guilty of this black deed. Only one face but wore this look; one face, and that belonged to aunt Eunice.
She stood with her hands thrown up, her eyes rolling wildly, while her capacious mouth opened and shut by jerks, as if she was trying to speak. Then with an explosive snort, she spluttered:
"Well, ef you hain't jest de biggest liar on top o' dis yere airth, den I don't know nuffin! Mars'r Clay—my chile—do dat ar'? He—w'y, you cussed funnelly fools—Lord 'a' massy, 'pears like I's gwine to bu'st, 'deed it does!"
"Take her out, some of you," angrily ordered the judge.
"Yes, aunty, you'd better go now," interposed Poynter. "It's all a mistake like the other one, and will be over soon."
He had not time to say more, for the old negress was unceremoniously hustled out of the "court-room," and the door again barred. Then the proceedings were resumed. Upon the charge of passing counterfeit money, Jim Henderson testified that the prisoner had given him a base five-dollar coin in payment of his score upon the night of the first meeting, receiving change in good silver.
Was positive of the fact, because it was the only coin of that denomination he had received that day. Upon this, Poynton admitted that he might have done so, unknowing that the coin was spurious, and instanced several cases of his being served the same way, owing to the vast amount of counterfeit money then in circulation.
"Jonathan Green!" called out the judge, acting as crier.
"Hyar I be!" grunted a coarse voice, as a man elbowed his way through the crowd toward the open space reserved for witnesses.
He was a short, squat-built, villainous-looking fellow of perhaps forty years, although strong drink and excesses may have contributed several of them. He cast a sidelong, sneaking glance at Poynter, and then suddenly averted his head.
The prisoner made a sudden motion as if about to speak, but then sunk back once more, his eyes steadily fixed upon Green's face.
This action was not unnoted by the jurors, and more than one thought they could discern a shudder pass over his form, as he darted a peculiar look at the witness. But then, in imitation of a legal court, Green was sworn, and proceeded to give in his testimony.
"Yas, 'ir, I'll tell ye the hull truth, jist es straight es a dogwood, ef on'y you'll promus 'at no harm 'll come arter it. He's mighty rambunctious, he is, when his mad's up."
"Never you mind about that, sir," impatiently said McGuire, "but give in your testimony."
"Wal, ef I must, why, so be it. I've knowed the pris'ner thar a consid'able spell, ef not longer. Me 'n' him usen to be gre't fri'nds an' pardners like, back to ol' Kaintuck—"
"Gentlemen, is this scoundrelly liar brought here to swear away my life? As I live, I have never seen the fellow half a dozen times; I didn't even know his name, beyond that of 'Lying Jack,' and never spoke a word to him in my life!" exclaimed the prisoner, hotly.
"Silence!" ordered the judge.
"Hyar's my hat," put in Green, extending the rag that answered that purpose, with a comical leer. "I never told a bigger lie 'n thet in my life!"
"Witness, you will go on with your evidence, or, by all that's good, I'll give you a taste of hickory oil!" thundered the judge.
"Jes' so! But, es I war sayin', I knowed 'im in ol' Kaintuck jist afore he war driv' away by the vigilantes—"
"For what reason?" asked one of the jurors.
"I don't know. Mebbe 'twas 'cause he scattered too much o' the queer, mebbe 'twasn't," returned the witness, significantly. "Anyhow, he left, an' then I nixt see'd him hyar. One day—mebbe two weeks gone by—he come to me an' says, says he, 'Green, my fri'nd, what you doin', anyhow?' 'Oh, jist sorter sloshin' round, like,' says I.
"Then arter a w'ile he said he could put me in a leetle way to make money, ef I'd no 'bjection. He said he's in the ol' business, an' wanted me to take holt and try to sell the 'queer,' offerin' to let me hev it fer fifteen dollars a hunderd, till I sorter got started, an' found rig'lar customers. I pertended to be all-fired glad, an' he guv me one hunderd dollars on tick."
"But why didn't you tell of this before?" demanded the judge.
"An' git sarved like Bart Clowry? Who was I to go to, ontel I hearn thet you un's was on the trail? Es soon 's I knowed thet, I come an' told you, didn't I?"
"Have you any of the money with you?"
"Yas," replied the witness, drawing a small package from his bootleg. "Hyar it is. I kep' it hid till to-day, 'cause ef it 'd 'a' bin found on me afore, the fellers mought 'a' thunk I's one o' them 'ar fellers."
The money, all in five-dollar coins, was passed to the jurors who, after a careful examination, pronounced it to be counterfeit. Surely, the case began to look black for the prisoner but he still maintained a haughty look upon his pale, handsome features, while his eye flashed back the angry glances that were cast at him from all sides.
"That is all the evidence upon the first charge, I believe," spoke McGuire, but he was interrupted by a voice from the crowd:
"Begging pardon, judge, but there's more yet," and the speaker, one of the two men who had remained behind at the prisoner's house, came forward, and held up a pair of dies made for coining half-eagles. "These toys were found at the house, concealed in the chimney-jamb."
Amidst the greatest excitement, Frank Dalton was sworn, and deposed to this effect. He and Sam Gibson had made a search of the premises after Poynter's capture. After a time they had found the dies, concealed as stated; and a small package of newly-coined money, tied up in an old rag at the bottom of the prisoner's trunk, and thinking they would be needed as evidence, had brought them away.
Samuel Gibson, who was a well-known and respected farmer, fully corroborated Dalton's statement as to the discovery, and when he concluded, any slight doubt that might have been entertained as to the prisoner's guilt, was entirely dispelled.
The hoarse murmur that filled the room began to increase in volume, and dark, deadly hints could be distinguished. Hints that soon grew into open threats, calling for a conviction—a conviction that would be equivalent to death.
Flogging was the least terrible of their threats; others spoke of hanging, several of burning!
Still the prisoner did not quail or tremble. He even drew himself up with a bolder defiance, and not one man of them all but turned their eyes away from his when their gaze met.
"Peace, gentlemen," spoke McGuire, half arising—the ceiling would allow no more—and waving his hand to command silence. "All in good time. There is yet another charge upon which he must be tried. If justice pauses, it will none the less be carried out.
"Wesley Sprowl!" he called out, once order was restored.
A little weasel-faced man approached the stand for witnesses. His form was bowed and emaciated, as if from some recent severe illness, and a hectic cough appeared to trouble him exceedingly, as he gave in his evidence, frequently causing him to pause and lean heavily against the table for support.
As soon as he had partially regained his breath, the judge ordered him to proceed with his testimony, after being duly sworn. But his first words were lost to the majority of the assembly, owing to his low tone; but he soon gathered strength, and every word was uttered with a clear distinctness, that from its deliberation, every sentence appeared to be carefully weighed before being spoken.
"I know the prisoner well, partly because he is not a common-looking man, but more so from feeling a friendly interest in him. He has often been at my house, and when I was nearly dead with the chills, and had no money, he brought me some quinine that cured me. I tell you this so that you may see how impossible it would be for me to mistake another for him.
"I was feeling quite unwell all day yesterday, and could not sleep any last night from that cause. Many of you know that I have lines constantly set in the river, by night as well as by day. Somehow my mind got to dwelling upon them, and I could not banish a fancy that occurred to me, of there being a great big catfish upon one of the lines.
"I thought it was trying to break the line, and at length I became so convinced that it was so, I dressed, and went out toward the river. Somehow I didn't think of taking any weapon with me; my mind was so full of the big fish.
"Well, I struck into the road at the cornfield, and then, as the easiest way, I followed the road, intending to strike the branch where a plain trail leads to the river. But, just as I got to the old 'Ivy Elm,' I heard loud voices coming directly toward me.
"So I slipped behind the tree to let them pass, for in these rough times you don't know who you might meet, and although I hadn't any thing worth stealing, it wouldn't be the first man who'd been rubbed out just for fun. But they were long in coming by and appeared to stop twice, talking in loud and, as I thought, angry tones, before they paused exactly in front of me.
"By reaching out my arm, I could have touched the largest man, they were that close; and by the voice, I thought I could recognize the prisoner. I was so frightened that I could only distinguish one sentence spoken by the latter: 'And you won't let that Kentucky scrape drop?'
"Those were his exact words, and the other man answered no, that he would tell all.
"Then I saw the larger one draw back his right hand, and could distinguish the gleam of a knife. The same moment, the other man stumbled and fell, muttering with a groan that he was killed. Twice more he was stabbed, and then the murderer appeared to be searching his body.
"I could see him take something white from an inner pocket and put it into his breast, but the shadow was so dense that I could not tell what it was, nor yet see their features plain enough to be sure of their identity. But then, with a curse, the murderer struck a match, and holding it close to the body, bent down his own head.
"He was unfastening something from his victim's shirt-bosom, that gleamed and sparkled in the light like lightning-bugs. The match lasted only a moment, but that was long enough for me to distinguish plainly the features of both men.
"The murdered one was the sandy-complexioned man that has been staying with Mr. McGuire, and the other was—"
Here the witness faltered for a moment, and glancing around over the eager, anxious faces that were turned upon him, cast a deprecating look at the prisoner, who was bending far forward, as if drinking in every word.
"And the other?" demanded the judge.
"The murderer was the prisoner, Clay Poynter!"
A deep, hoarse cry of rage and fury ran around the crowd of spectators, but far above it roared the clear, metallic tones of the accused.
"It is false, every word—false as h—l!"
In vain the judge shouted for order; his call was unheeded. The crowd swayed to and fro for a moment, and then rushed forward, as one man, to seize upon the prisoner.
But Neil McGuire ran along the table and stood beside Poynter, with a cocked revolver in his hand. The next instant, obedient to his call, the jurors gathered around, similarly armed. Then McGuire spoke in a tone that overpowered the tumult.
"Stand back—back with you! By the God that made me, if one of you dare to lay a hand on the prisoner, I will spatter the walls with your brains!"
"Hang the murderer—burn him!" roared the crowd.
"Once more, I say, stand back!" yelled the judge, threatening the foremost with his pistol. "Is he not in our power? He can't escape us. Wait until his trial is over, and if pronounced guilty, then you may work your will."
"And ain't he found guilty?" called out a voice from the crowd.
"You'd best keep a still tongue, Polk Redlaw," returned McGuire, significantly. "To-night's work don't speak very highly in your favor. But, all of you, be patient for a time. When all the evidence is heard, then we will decide. Until then, he is in my charge, and you know me well enough to be sure I will keep my word."
In a few moments order was restored, the judge and jurors resuming their seats, while Wesley Sprowl continued his story:
"I nearly fell, from horror and astonishment, when I saw who the murderer was, but managed to keep still. If you ask why I didn't confront him, or attempt to avenge John Dement, I say, look at us both. He with ten times my strength, and fully armed, while I was barely able to walk, and without a single weapon.
"After a bit, the murderer took up the body in his arms and carried it to the river, where I heard a splash as if it had been cast into the water. I dared not stay longer, and stepping into the road, where I knew he could not hear my footsteps in the soft dirt, was about to run when something bright caught my eye. I snatched it up and then ran as fast as I could to the house, where I hid the article in the bed.
"In the morning I was down with a hard shake, and it was nearly noon before I could get up. But then I came over here, and knowing the head men of the league, I told what I knew about the affair. What happened since, you all know."
"But the thing that you found—what was it?"
"I have it here—see!" and after unwrapping a small parcel, he elevated his hand.
In it was a piece of jewelry. It was the diamond cluster-pin lately worn by John Dement!
There was no uproar now. A deadly calm had settled upon the assembly. A calm that spoke plainer than words on oaths.
It spoke of death.
"Gentlemen," slowly said the judge, "I need not ask if this pin is recognized; we all know it. And it shows that a bloody, dastardly deed has been committed. The verbal evidence is all given in; but still we must not be rash. Let us first search the river for the body, so that there may be no doubt. It is too late now to conclude to-night. Besides, the daylight is better. It will show that we are not ashamed of our actions."
"And what shall we do with the murderer?" interrupted one of the jurors.
"We can guard him until to-morrow. This room is safe especially as he will be bound."
"Well, he is guilty of counterfeiting, anyhow, and for that we condemn him to receive one hundred lashes upon the bare back. It would be more but for the other charge."
"Yes, and to-night! We won't go home without some fun," interrupted one of the spectators.
"I protest!" cried McGuire. "Let him suffer but one punishment. Don't let's act like savages."
"No, no," yelled the crowd, "do it now, or else we'll finish up the job off-hand."
The excitement now grew intense; weapons were freely drawn and brandished, and although the judge stood over the prisoner with ready revolver, he was unsupported. The jurors had gone with the majority.
"Better give in, judge," called out the juror who had pronounced the sentence. "You see you can do no good, and will only get hurt. You have done all one man can do, but the boys are determined, even if it costs a dozen lives."
"Don't get yourself into trouble upon my account, Mr. McGuire," exclaimed the prisoner. "These devils want blood, and it may as well come now as to-morrow. Besides," and here he lowered his tone, "remember your—family.”