Why that hanging back, as if the thong of horse-hide was a venomous snake, that none dares to touch?
The majority—the plurality, to use a true Western word—has pronounced the sentence of death; some strengthening it with rude, even blasphemous, speech.
Why is it not carried out?
Why?
For want of that unanimity, that stimulates to immediate action—for want of the proofs to produce it.
There is a minority not satisfied—that with less noise, but equally earnest emphasis, have answered “No.”
It is this that has caused a suspension of the violent proceedings.
Among this minority is Judge Lynch himself—Sam Manly, the Chief of the Regulators.
He has not yet passed sentence; or even signified his acceptance of the acclamatory verdict.
“Fellow citizens!” cries he, as soon as he has an opportunity of making himself heard, “I’m of the opinion, that there’s a doubt in this case; and I reckon we ought to give the accused the benefit of it—that is, till he be able to say his own say about it.
It’s no use questioning him now, as ye all see.
We have him tight and fast; and there’s not much chance of his getting clear—if guilty. Therefore, I move we postpone the trial, till—”
“What’s the use of postponing it?” interrupts a voice already loud for the prosecution, and which can be distinguished as that of Cassius Calhoun. “What’s the use, Sam Manly?
It’s all very well for you to talk that way; but if you had a friend foully murdered—I won’t say cousin, but a son, a brother—you might not be so soft about it.
What more do you want to show that the skunk’s guilty?
Further proofs?”
“That’s just what we want, Captain Calhoun.”
“Cyan you give them, Misther Cashius Calhoun?” inquires a voice from the outside circle, with a strong Irish accent.
“Perhaps I can.”
“Let’s have them, then!”
“God knows you’ve had evidence enough.
A jury of his own stupid countrymen—”
“Bar that appellashun!” shouts the man, who has demanded the additional evidence. “Just remember, Misther Calhoun, ye’re in Texas, and not Mississippi.
Bear that in mind; or ye may run your tongue into trouble, sharp as it is.”
“I don’t mean to offend any one,” says Calhoun, backing out of the dilemma into which his Irish antipathies had led him; “even an Englishman, if there’s one here.”
“Thare ye’re welcome—go on!” cries the mollified Milesian.
“Well, then, as I was saying, there’s been evidence enough—and more than enough, in my opinion.
But if you want more, I can give it.”
“Give it—give it!” cry a score of responding voices; that keep up the demand, while Calhoun seems to hesitate.
“Gentlemen!” says he, squaring himself to the crowd, as if for a speech, “what I’ve got to say now I could have told you long ago.
But I didn’t think it was needed.
You all know what’s happened between this man and myself; and I had no wish to be thought revengeful.
I’m not; and if it wasn’t that I’m sure he has done the deed—sure as the head’s on my body—”
Calhoun speaks stammeringly, seeing that the phrase, involuntarily escaping from his lips, has produced a strange effect upon his auditory—as it has upon himself.
“If not sure—I—I should still say nothing of what I’ve seen, or rather heard: for it was in the night, and I saw nothing.”
“What did you hear, Mr Calhoun?” demands the Regulator Chief, resuming his judicial demeanour, for a time forgotten in the confusion of voting the verdict. “Your quarrel with the prisoner, of which I believe everybody has heard, can have nothing to do with your testimony here.
Nobody’s going to accuse you of false swearing on that account.
Please proceed, sir.
What did you hear? And where, and when, did you hear it?”
“To begin, then, with the time.
It was the night my cousin was missing; though, of course, we didn’t miss him till the morning.
Last Tuesday night.”
“Tuesday night.
Well?”
“I’d turned in myself; and thought Henry had done the same.
But what with the heat, and the infernal musquitoes, I couldn’t get any sleep.
“I started up again; lit a cigar; and, after smoking it awhile in the room, I thought of taking a turn upon the top of the house.
“You know the old hacienda has a flat roof, I suppose?
Well, I went up there to get cool; and continued to pull away at the weed.
“It must have been then about midnight, or maybe a little earlier. I can’t tell: for I’d been tossing about on my bed, and took no note of the time.