The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

58 had been fought for by the State; they were all business men who did not like bemg summoned on a jury and wished the trial quickly over. One was a Scotchman of about sixty who always scratched his ticket in favor of Jere McRae because McRae was a man after his own heart; because he punished sinners. Lord’s counsel had surely been napping when he used his challenges peremptory before coming to this man. With him on the jury, acquittal would be impossible; the wildest hope of the defense must be eleven for acquittal and one for hanging the defendant. When Jere McRae rose, a grim smile expanded the countenance of the Scotch- man. He removed his spectacles, put them into a case lined with red flannel, pocketed the case and leaned forward to enjoy the speech of the district attorney. McRae was sure to do his duty. | To do his duty—McRae’s mind h closed like iren on that one idea. He would do his duty always; though it should be to hang his brother. Rawley Lord sat with arms folded across that young chest ef his that was as lithe as a catamount’s. He was twenty-two, but a boy can look harder than a man when he tries. His lips curled a trifle, as if he might be humming a tune to himself; and that air of indifference was doing him no good with the jury. He rolled a piece of paper into a sham cigarette, just as McRae had seen him do that night in the cabin. It was now after- noon. The snow in the air made it a car- rier of sound, and when a violin led off in a ten-cent theater somewhere, the tune strayed into the court-room; a hesitating, troubled sort of tune. Involuntarily, Lord’s arm crooked and his fingers curled as if around the neck of an instrument. McRae thought he would break down. Instead, he braced himself so hard that he looked like a fiend. Through a colored pane over a window, a streak of light filtered and fell on his throat, under the jaw—a sinister line of crimson. He shrugged one shoulder, McRae began in a low voice. He did not look at the prisoner. Never before had THE ARGOSY. che been seen to avoid the eyes of a man he attacked. People noticed this. The court-room grew so still that Lord could hear his lawyer’s watch ticking aloud. There were few in the court-room that snowy day. The case had not promised to be interesting, since it was thought counsel knew McRae too well to try any sob stuff. But a bright young reporter had dropped in to pick up what he could. By something in McRae’s voice he sensed a story. He slid over some empty seats to be near the district attorney. McRae was summing the case. The old scotch juror leaned far forward in enjoy- ment of his logic. It was a beautiful case to argue. Either Rawley Lord had con- spired or he hadn’t. If he had it was mur- der in the first degree; if he hadn’t, he could not be held on the charge. The burden of proof was on him, since he had run away. He denied his conspiracy and offered in proof the testimony of the former deputy-sheriff. Was that proof? McRae riddled it. It was merely a man’s opinion. The criminal court was not far from a railroad. While McRae destroyed the de- fense, the whistle of a train was heard; and a little later a taxi drove up to the building. The junior member of Rawley Lord’s coun- sel then tiptoed out, to keep Hilairy from entering during the speech of the prosecu- tion. It would be hard for a woman to hear what he was evidently going to ask of the jury. He went on. But now he was speaking with great effort; he felt like a man swim- ming up-stream. “And so, gentlemen of the jury ”—he paused to breathe—“ gentlemen, it be- comes my duty—” ~~ The reporter held his pencil poised. McRae had stopped; he seemed to be thinking on his feet. “It is my duty, in the—in the sight of - God—” Again he caught himself. His words had a queer sound. It was all he could do to control himself. But he must do his duty. Rawley Lord had gone white; had braced himself with both elbows on his chair. He still smiled—scornfully. Suddenly, as if by some force outside his oO cComicbooe S CO