The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come [49]
gravely.
"Mornin'," answered several, among whom was the Squire, who eyed Joel's gun and the guns coming up the road.
"Squirrel-huntin'?" he asked and, as the old hunter did not answer, he added, sharply:
"Air you afeerd, Joel Turner, that you ain't a-goin' to git justice from ME?"
"I don't keer whar it comes from," said Joel, grimly--"but I'm a-goin' to HAVE it."
It was plain that the old man not only was making no plea for sympathy, but was alienating the little he had: and what he had was very little for who but a lover of dogs can give full sympathy to his kind? And, then, Jack was believed to be guilty. It was curious to see how each Dillon shrank unconsciously as the Turners gathered--all but Jerry, one of the giant twins. He always stood his ground--fearing nor man, nor dog--nor devil.
Ten minutes later, the Squire took his seat on the platform, while the circuit-rider squatted down beside him. The crowd, men and women and children, took the rough benches. To one side sat and stood the Dillons, old Tad and little Tad, Daws, Nance, and others of the tribe. Straight in front of the Squire gathered the Turners about Melissa and Chad--and Jack as a centre--with Jack squatted on his hanches foremost of all, facing the Squire with grave dignity and looking at none else save, occasionally, the old hunter or his little master.
To the right stood the sheriff with his rifle, and on the outskirts hung the school-master. Quickly the old Squire chose a jury--giving old Joel the opportunity to object as he called each man's name. Old Joel objected to none, for every man called, he knew, was more friendly to him than to the Dillons: and old Tad Dillon raised no word of protest, for he knew his case was clear. Then began the trial, and any soul that was there would have shuddered could he have known how that trial was to divide neighbor against neighbor, and mean death and bloodshed for half a century after the trial itself was long forgotten.
The first witness, old Tad--long, lean, stooping, crafty--had seen the sheep rushing wildly up the hill-side "'bout crack o' day," he said, and had sent Daws up to see what the matter was. Daws had shouted back:
"That damned Turner dog has killed one o' our sheep. Thar he comes now. Kill him!" And old Tad had rushed in-doors for his rifle and had taken a shot at Jack as he leaped into the road and loped for home. Just then a stern, thick little voice rose from behind Jack:
"Hit was a God's blessin' fer you that you didn't hit him."
The Squire glared down at the boy and old Joel said, kindly:
"Hush, Chad."
Old Dillon had then gone down to the Turners and asked them to kill the dog, but old Joel had refused.
"Whar was Whizzer?" Chad asked, sharply.
"You can't axe that question," said the Squire. "Hit's er-er-irrelevant."
Daws came next. When he reached the fence upon the hill-side he could see the sheep lying still on the ground. As he was climbing over, the Turner dog jumped the fence and Daws saw blood on his muzzle.
"How close was you to him?" asked the Squire.
"'Bout twenty feet," said Daws.
"Humph!" said old Joel.
"Whar was Whizzer?" Again the old Squire glared down at Chad.
"Don't you axe that question again, boy. Didn't I tell you hit was irrelevant?"
"What's irrelevant?" the boy asked, bluntly.
The Squire hesitated. "Why--why, hit ain't got nothin' to do with the case."
"Hit ain't?" shouted Chad.
"Joel," said the Squire, testily, "ef you don't keep that boy still, I'll fine him fer contempt o' court."
Joel laughed, but he put his heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. Little Tad Dillon and Nance and the Dillon mother had all seen Jack running down the road. There was no doubt but that it was the Turner dog. And with this clear case against poor Jack, the Dillons rested. And what else could the Turners do but establish Jack's character and put in a plea of mercy--a useless plea, old Joel knew --for a first offence? Jack was the best dog old Joel had
"Mornin'," answered several, among whom was the Squire, who eyed Joel's gun and the guns coming up the road.
"Squirrel-huntin'?" he asked and, as the old hunter did not answer, he added, sharply:
"Air you afeerd, Joel Turner, that you ain't a-goin' to git justice from ME?"
"I don't keer whar it comes from," said Joel, grimly--"but I'm a-goin' to HAVE it."
It was plain that the old man not only was making no plea for sympathy, but was alienating the little he had: and what he had was very little for who but a lover of dogs can give full sympathy to his kind? And, then, Jack was believed to be guilty. It was curious to see how each Dillon shrank unconsciously as the Turners gathered--all but Jerry, one of the giant twins. He always stood his ground--fearing nor man, nor dog--nor devil.
Ten minutes later, the Squire took his seat on the platform, while the circuit-rider squatted down beside him. The crowd, men and women and children, took the rough benches. To one side sat and stood the Dillons, old Tad and little Tad, Daws, Nance, and others of the tribe. Straight in front of the Squire gathered the Turners about Melissa and Chad--and Jack as a centre--with Jack squatted on his hanches foremost of all, facing the Squire with grave dignity and looking at none else save, occasionally, the old hunter or his little master.
To the right stood the sheriff with his rifle, and on the outskirts hung the school-master. Quickly the old Squire chose a jury--giving old Joel the opportunity to object as he called each man's name. Old Joel objected to none, for every man called, he knew, was more friendly to him than to the Dillons: and old Tad Dillon raised no word of protest, for he knew his case was clear. Then began the trial, and any soul that was there would have shuddered could he have known how that trial was to divide neighbor against neighbor, and mean death and bloodshed for half a century after the trial itself was long forgotten.
The first witness, old Tad--long, lean, stooping, crafty--had seen the sheep rushing wildly up the hill-side "'bout crack o' day," he said, and had sent Daws up to see what the matter was. Daws had shouted back:
"That damned Turner dog has killed one o' our sheep. Thar he comes now. Kill him!" And old Tad had rushed in-doors for his rifle and had taken a shot at Jack as he leaped into the road and loped for home. Just then a stern, thick little voice rose from behind Jack:
"Hit was a God's blessin' fer you that you didn't hit him."
The Squire glared down at the boy and old Joel said, kindly:
"Hush, Chad."
Old Dillon had then gone down to the Turners and asked them to kill the dog, but old Joel had refused.
"Whar was Whizzer?" Chad asked, sharply.
"You can't axe that question," said the Squire. "Hit's er-er-irrelevant."
Daws came next. When he reached the fence upon the hill-side he could see the sheep lying still on the ground. As he was climbing over, the Turner dog jumped the fence and Daws saw blood on his muzzle.
"How close was you to him?" asked the Squire.
"'Bout twenty feet," said Daws.
"Humph!" said old Joel.
"Whar was Whizzer?" Again the old Squire glared down at Chad.
"Don't you axe that question again, boy. Didn't I tell you hit was irrelevant?"
"What's irrelevant?" the boy asked, bluntly.
The Squire hesitated. "Why--why, hit ain't got nothin' to do with the case."
"Hit ain't?" shouted Chad.
"Joel," said the Squire, testily, "ef you don't keep that boy still, I'll fine him fer contempt o' court."
Joel laughed, but he put his heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. Little Tad Dillon and Nance and the Dillon mother had all seen Jack running down the road. There was no doubt but that it was the Turner dog. And with this clear case against poor Jack, the Dillons rested. And what else could the Turners do but establish Jack's character and put in a plea of mercy--a useless plea, old Joel knew --for a first offence? Jack was the best dog old Joel had