The coming of October brought the next term of court. What seemed an age had at last terminated and Ephriam Cooley was again brought to trial. His removal from the prison to the courthouse was without incident. The prisoner was guarded in the most thorough manner against possible molestation. The regular police guards were reinforced by deputies sworn in by the sheriff, and the vicinity of the court had, in consequence, the appearance of an armed camp.
Police were stationed at every approach as well as in the hall and every preparation had been made to quell instantly any attempt at lawless interference with the ordinary course of law.
When the doors opened, the waiting crowd was allowed to enter and in a few minutes all the available space within the courtroom was densely packed.
The judge took his seat.
Ephriam Cooley entered between two officers, handcuffed, his bold, insulting eyes wearing a look of sullen defiance, his unkempt beard lending more than ever an animal look to his face.
The selection of the jury occupied the greater portion of the morning, but at length twelve citizens were impaneled and listened to the reading of the indictment.
The temper of the people might be seen in the burst of rage that swept over the crowd when the atrocious deed was described.
Elliott Harding, with his usual aspect of dignity, had schooled his face into a cold passiveness, but though outwardly calm, his pulse was throbbing with the fierceness of fever beats. A stranger entering the courtroom would never have selected him from the group of men as the one whose life had been crushed out by the object of this trial.
When the reading was finished, the witnesses for the state were called. The first name which rang through the courtroom was that of John Holmes. The prisoner drew himself together and watched him keenly as the oath was administered; his face, despite its defiant mask, had a restless, haunted look which sat strangely on his hard, grim features.
Skillfully aided by questions from the court, Holmes unfolded the whole awful story of the first discovery of the dead body of Dorothy Carr. Passing rapidly over the painful details, the sheriff told then of the man-hunt, of the finding of the bloody razor as it had dropped from the pocket of the prisoner’s coat.
The negro cook of the Carrs swore that the prisoner was the man to whom she had given a drink of water about half an hour before her mistress had been brought home.
Toward the close of the State’s evidence, the chain binding the prisoner to the gallows had become all but complete. In the face of such evidence and in the atmosphere of such bitter resentment, the counsel appointed for his defense struggled against overwhelming odds.
He contented himself with belittling the value of circumstantial evidence adduced by the prosecution, and presenting the argument that the prisoner’s education and his social position as a school teacher attested to his inability to commit a crime so revolting in its conception and so brutal in its execution. He stated that the woman at whose house the prisoner had been arrested, had repeatedly said that he had been at her house, some fifteen miles away from the scene of the crime, at the very hour the deed was said to have been committed, that she would testify to that statement here if she had not moved away and could not now be located. Whatever effect the counsel thus produced was more than neutralized when the prisoner was called to the stand for a specious denial.
The sinister fear with which the negro peered about the courtroom, the affected nonchalance and thinly veiled defiance of his mumbled answers told damningly against him. The passions of raging fear and terror had driven from his low-browed face every trace of intellectuality or culture, leaving only the cunning cruelty and ferocity of the animal. His cross-examination left him without a vestige of self control, and before it had well finished, in a violent passion he poured forth a volley of oaths, his huge frame quivering as he burst into a raving, shrieking arraignment of the white man, in which he had to be almost throttled into silence by the deputies.
When the prosecuting attorney arose to review the case, there hung over the courtroom the ominous hush that is significant of but one thing. After a brief recital of the details of the evidence, the counsel appealed to the jury to do its sworn duty.
The judge’s charge was a cool, impartial exposition of the law as it applied to the case. When finished, the jury arose amid a general movement of relief upon the part of the audience and as the twelve men filed out, there was considerable excited conversation, mingled with whispered speculations as to how long they would be out. Within the courtroom proper, as soon as the jury had retired, the Court instructed the sheriff to announce a recess.
A half hour passed and there was a commotion in the outer hall. The sheriff wore an agitated air. Presently, one by one, a half-dozen men walked inside the railing and dropped carelessly into chairs.
The prisoner looked at his new companions and evidently read aright their mission. They were deputy sheriffs. Four of them sat in chairs ranged behind the prisoner and one sat at either side of him.
Directly across the aisle sat Elliott Harding, apparently cool and patient.
Very soon it became generally known that a verdict had been reached.
During the next five minutes, the rooms filled rapidly. The sheriff rapped for order and shouted:
“Let everyone within the courtroom sit down.”
From that moment the stillness of death prevailed. Every eye was turned toward the prisoner. His fingers worked convulsively and his whole body trembled. But few seconds elapsed before the twelve men slowly and gravely filed into their places.
“Have you reached a verdict, gentlemen?” asked the Court, as they lined up.
“We have, Your Honor,” answered the foreman.
The Court then announced: “I want everyone to understand that the least attempt at an expression of approval or disapproval of this verdict, as it is read, will be punished by a fine for contempt. Mr. Clerk, read the verdict.”
The clerk obeyed. His voice was clear and everyone heard: “We, the jury, agree and find the defendant, Ephriam Cooley, guilty of the murder of Dorothy Carr, and fix his punishment at death.”
Elliott Harding quietly left the scene, feeling already a lightening of the intolerable load which had so long weighed upon him.