The Winds of Chance Part 7

"One of them is still at Linderman, the other was here in Sheep Camp an hour ago. She has probably started for Dyea by this time."

"A woman?"

"Yes, sir. I brought her across."

"What is her name?"

Phillips hesitated. "The Countess Courteau," said he. There was a murmur of interest; the members of the committee conferred with one an other.

"Do you mean to tell us that you've got a t.i.tled witness?" the self-appointed spokesman inquired. His face wore a smile of disbelief; when the prisoner flushed and nodded he called out over the heads of the crowd:

"Countess Courteau!" There was no answer. "Do any of you gentlemen know the Countess Courteau?" he inquired.

His question was greeted by a general laugh.

"Don't let him kid you," cried a derisive voice.

"Never heard of her, but I met four kings last night," yelled another.

"Call the Marquis of Queensberry," shouted still a third.

"Countess Courteau!" repeated the chairman, using his hands for a megaphone.

The cry was taken up by other throats. "Countess Courteau!

Countess Courteau!" they mocked. "Come, Countess! Nice Countess!

Pretty Countess!" There was a ribald note to this mockery which caused Phillips' eyes to glow.

"She and the count have just left the palace. Let's get along with the hangin'," one shrill voice demanded.

"You won't hang me!" Phillips retorted, angrily.

"Be not so sure," taunted the acting judge. "Inasmuch as your countess appears to be const.i.tuted of that thin fabric of which dreams are made; inasmuch as there is no such animal--"

"Hol' up!" came a peremptory challenge. "M'sieu Jodge!" It was the big French Canadian whom Pierce had met on the crest of the divide; he came forward now, pushing his resistless way through the audience. "Wat for you say dere ain't n.o.body by dat name, eh?"

He turned his back to the committee and addressed the meeting.

"Wat for you hack lak dis, anyhow? By gosh! I heard 'bout dis lady! She's ol'-timer lak me."

"Well, trot her out! Where is she?"

"She's on her way to Dyea," Pierce insisted. "She can't be far--"

'Poleon Doret was angry. "I don' listen to no woman be joke 'bout, you hear? Dis boy spik true. He was in Linderman las' night, for I seen him on top of Chilkoot yesterday myse'f, wit' pack on his back so beeg as a barn."

"Do you know the accused?" queried the spokesman.

'Poleon turned with a shrug. "Non! No! But--yes, I know him li'l bit. Anybody can tell he's hones' boy. By Gar! She's strong feller, too--pack lak h.e.l.l!"

Pierce Phillips was grateful for this evidence of faith, inconclusive as it was in point of law. He was sorry, therefore, to see the Frenchman, after replying shortly, impatiently, to several senseless cross-questions, force his way out of the crowd and disappear, shaking his head and muttering in manifest disgust at the temper of his townsmen.

But although one friend had gone, another took his place--a champion, by the way, whom Pierce would never have suspected of being such. Profiting by the break in the proceedings, Lucky Broad spoke up.

"Frenchy was right--this kid's on the square," he declared. "I'm the gentleman who gathered his wheat at Dyea--he fairly fed it to me, like he said--so I guess I'm acquainted with him. We're all a.s.sembled up to mete out justice, and justice is going to be met, but, say! a sucker like this boy wouldn't KNOW enough to steal!"

It was doubtful if this witness, well-intentioned as he was, carried conviction, for, although his followers took their cue from him and applauded loudly, their very manifestations of faith aroused suspicion among the honest men present.

One of the latter, a red-faced, square-shouldered person, thrust a determined countenance close to Broad's and cried, angrily: "Is that so? Well, I'm for hangin' anybody you boost!"

This sentiment met with such instantaneous second that the confidence-man withdrew precipitately. "Have it your own way," he gave in, with an airy gesture. "But take it from me you're a bunch of b.o.o.bs. Hangin' ain't a nice game, and the guy that hollers loudest for it is usually the one that needs it worst."

It took some effort on the part of the chairman to bring the meeting to order so that the hearing could be resumed.

Phillips went on with his story and told of spending the night with Tom Linton, then of his return to Sheep Camp to learn that he had been robbed of all his savings. Corroboration of this misfortune he left to the oral testimony of the two brothers McCaskey and to the circ.u.mstantial evidence of Jim's bandaged head.

While it seemed to him that he had given a simple, straightforward account of himself which would establish his innocence, so far, at least, as it applied to the theft of the sack of rice, he was uncomfortably aware that evidence of systematic pilfering had been introduced and that evidence he had not met except indirectly. His proof seemed good so far as it went, but it did not go far, and he believed it all too likely that his hearers still considered him an accomplice, at the best.

Jim McCaskey was next called and Pierce made way for him. The younger brother made a poor start, but he warmed up to his own defense, gaining confidence and ease as he talked.

In the first place, both he and Joe were innocent of this outrageous charge--as innocent as unborn babes--and this air of suspicion was like to smother them. This Jim declared upon his honor. The evidence was strong, he admitted, but it was purely circ.u.mstantial, and he proposed to explain it away. He proposed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; letting the blame fall where it would and leaving the verdict entirely up to his hearers. Joe would substantiate his every statement.

It was quite true that he and his brother had been Good Samaritans; they had opened their doors and had taken in this young man when he was hungry and homeless, but that was their habit. They had fed him, they had shared their blankets with him, they had helped him in a thousand ways, not without serious inconvenience to themselves. Why, only on the day before the speaker himself had volunteered to take the young man's earnings to Dyea for safekeeping, thereby letting himself in for an unmerciful mauling, and suffering a semi-fractured skull, the marks of which would doubtless stay with him for a long time.

Phillips had left camp early the previous morning, to be sure, and he had not come home until an hour or two ago, but where he had gone, how he had occupied himself during his absence, where he had spent the night, of course the speaker had no way of knowing.

Phillips was often absent at night; he came and he went at all hours, and neither Joe nor the witness ever questioned him, believing his statements that he was packing for hire. Neither his brother nor he had ever seen that sack of rice antil it was uncovered by the posse, and as for the other plunder, it was all part and parcel of an outfit which their guest had been a.s.sembling for some time. They supposed, of course, that he had bought it, bit by bit, with his earnings.

Pierce Phillips listened in speechless amazement, scarcely believing his own ears, the while Jim McCaskey struck the fetters from his own and his brother's limbs and placed them upon his. It seemed impossible that such a story could carry weight, but from all indications it did. When Joe McCaskey took the center of the stage and glibly corroborated his brother's statements Pierce interrupted him savagely, only to be warned that he'd better be silent.

"That's all we've got to say," concluded the elder of the precious pair when he had finished. "You can judge for yourselves who did the stealing. Jim and I've got all the grub we want; this fellow hasn't any."

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" The chairman addressed himself to Phillips.

"I have." Pierce again took the stand. "You're making a great mistake," he said, earnestly. "These men have lied; they're trying to save themselves at my expense. I've told you everything, now I demand that you wait to hear the Countess Courteau or Mr. Linton.

They'll prove where I spent last night, at least."

"Mr. Chairman!" A stranger claimed general attention. "I've listened to the evidence and it's strong enough for me. The grub didn't get up and walk away by itself; somebody took it. Grub is more than grub in this country; it's more than money; it's a man's life, that's what it is. Now, then, the McCaskeys had an outfit when they landed; they didn't need to steal; but this fellow, this dirty ingrate, he hadn't a pound. I don't swallow his countess story and I don't care a hoot where he was last night. Let's decide first what punishment a thief gets, then let's give it to him."

"Hear! Hear!" came the cry.

"Hanging is good enough for thieves!" shouted the choleric individual who had so pointedly made known his distrust of Lucky Broad. "I say stretch 'em."

"Right! Let's make an example!"

"Hang him!" There rose a hoa.r.s.e chorus of a.s.sent to this suggestion, whereupon the chairman stepped forward.

"All those in favor of hanging--" he began. But again he was interrupted by 'Poleon Doret, who once more bored his way into the crowd, crying:

"Wait! I got somet'ing to say." He was breathing heavily, as if from a considerable exertion; perspiration stood upon his face; his eyes were flashing. He vaulted lightly to the platform, then flung out his long arms, crying: "You hack lak crazee mans. Wat talk is dis 'bout hangin'? You ain't wild hanimals!"

The red-faced advocate of the noose who had spoken a moment before answered him in a loud voice: