Adventure, June 1911 — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Necéssity’s Law in Paradise a dusty drawer of the desk and removed from its supporting place under the back leg of, the table “‘Bishop’s Criminal Pro- cedure” and fell upon them with feverish anxiety. After hours and hours of pawing through “assault with felonious intent” to ‘premeditated murder,’”’ he heaved a sigh of relief as he came across “justifiable hom- icide.” “‘Justifiable homicide,” he read, “in an effort to prevent bodily harm to parent, child, brother, sister———” There! He had them! Sister—‘‘in an effort to pre- vent bodily harm to sister!” For five seconds he breathed easier, but, as he read on, came the fact of the premedi- tation; the boasting of Mazaro in the Five Fingers Saloon. As for Mazaro’s visit to him, that was known to only the County Attorney and Mazaro, and unless the Greaser admitted it in testimony, the County Attorney resolved that it should be forever a buried secret. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Mazaro had boasted that he intended to kill Francisco, and no amount of law reading could wipe out the fact that kept coming back to taunt Bill King, that it was purely and simply a case of premeditated murder. “Well, by George!” he exclaimed, as a new thought struck him. “Francisco isn’t dead yet! Maybe he won’t die, so un- less Mazaro treats me to a load of his buck- shot or that sweet little brother-in-law gets well and tries to beat me to death, I may come out all right yet.” But before night a new phase was given to King’s troubles, and one that made his former anxiety fade to a mere mirage. In searching through his legal books and pam- phlets he learned something new. That in just seven days the annual term of court would be held in Paradise! In fulfill- ment of his oath of office, he, the County Attorney, must, on the opening day of court, present to the Grand Jury all viola- tions of the law within the jurisdiction of his office. When he took the oath, this meant nothing and the date made no im- pression upon him. Now the awful mean- ing of it stunned him. In seven days he must prosecute Mazaro Gonzales for taking his advice! “T can’t do it, that’s all,” he repeated again and again. “I can’t prosecute that poor devil for doing what I told him to do. And if I don’t, I’ll have to lay the case be- fore the Grand Jury; make a clean breast of 245 it; exonerate Mazaro, and then—then it’s Big William once more to the railroad- ties!” ALL this while Mazaro was glorying in his incarceration, hoping, pray- ing that his shot had been fatal; glad to stay in jail, willing to eat crusts, to sleep on a dirty floor, to suffer anything if only Francisco were dead and little Bonita would smile up into his face as she did when she used to bake his fortillas before the little adobe cabin had seemed so lonely and Bonita so sad. For seven days Francisco lay unconscious on the sheepskin on the floor of old Maria’s hut where the Deputy-Sheriff had carried him on the night of the crime. There were no hospitals in Paradise. There was seldom need for them. Usually the Mexicans did | their work so well that a priest and a grave- digger performed the last rites without the aid of a hospital. But Mazaro had miscalculated some- where and death was not instantaneous as he had prayed it might be. If Mazaro had but seen little Bonita hovering over her liege lord during those hours of unconscious- ness and delirium, and ministering to his wants with her left hand while around her right she wore a huge bandage covering the marks of her husband’s last caress, he would have bitten through the bars of his cell and completed his work. But Mazaro didn’t see. He only prayed in his cell. At last the seven days had passed and the day before the opening of court arrived, with Big Bill King in a state of mind border- ing on insanity. In all that god-forsaken town there was no one ear into which he could pour his tale of woe with any hope of sympathy. He had determined on the only course possible—to lay his story before the Grand Jury and take his medicine. He had reached the ultimate limit in his state of anxiety and was waiting for the Grand Jury to convene and know the worst. Just out of curiosity, he thought, he would make a call upon old Maria and inquire after the ill-being of Francisco. Old Maria was baking in the little bee-hivelike oven out- side her house. ‘ “How is Francisco to-day?” he asked of er. ““He gon-a home; tak’ away from these plaze, sefior,’’ she replied indifferently. “What!” he shouted in her ears, so loud COnmmiclbooks (C@