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The sentence was the lowest the law allows: namely, one day's imprisonment with hard labor. This unlooked-for clemency staggered the prisoner. Oblivious of every fact but the terrible one that Dennis Rumpety had died by his hand, he had nerved himself for what he believed would be his death-blow. The tension had been too great; he could not bear its sudden removal.
A cruel smile gathered about the lips as he answered the questions of the court. There was something peculiarly incongruous in the jovial, happy-go-lucky name to which this man answered. "Mr. Rumpety," the judge asked, "have you provided yourself with legal advice?" "No, your honor," the man replied, with a strong north-country brogue. "No, sorr! I've got no use for the laryers."
The judge invariably spoke in a low tone of voice, but it was not often that he had to repeat himself; the voice of authority has a way of making itself heard. Rumpety locked his lips again and took his seat. The jury was called, Ed Rankin's name among the first. Rankin had not heard a word about the Rumpety case, yet the nature of it was as clear to him as daylight.
With the music there was plenty of dandy drumming Rumpety! rumpety! rump! rump! rump! Then, ushered by Buckle, the guests began to stream up the steps. One-Eye was first, attended by all of his fellow cowboys; and there was some yip-yipping, and ki-eying, in true Western fashion, Johnnie saluting each befurred horseman in perfect scout style.
The wagon turned into a corral, close to a tumble-down shanty, and as Rankin rode up to the opening the children were just disappearing in at the door, while the woman slowly and painfully climbed down over the wheel. Rumpety stood by, jeering at her slow progress. "Come, horry a little, me foine lady," Rankin heard him say. "Horry, or I'll come and give ye a lift ye'll not thank me for!"
If, occasionally, the witness hesitated, Rumpety would lift his eyebrows or make a slight movement which sent the blood into the pale cheek of woman or child and an added tremor into the faint voice. More than once the district attorney sprang to his feet and cried, "Your honor, I object to this man's intimidating the people's witnesses;" but the intimidation was too subtle to seize hold upon.
He was soon dismissed, and went shuffling back to his cold corner. The woman and girls proved no more available for purposes of justice than the boy. Their testimony was perfectly consistent and absolutely unshakable; it had been thoroughly beaten into them, that was clear. When it came time for Rumpety to plead his own cause before the jury he proved quite equal to the situation.
The woman crouched in a corner with her six children about her; seven pitiful scared faces were lifted to his. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. "Dennis Rumpety is dead," he stated, in a hard, unnatural voice. It seemed to him as if those awful words must echo round the globe, rousing all the powers of the land against him, striking terror to the hearts at home.
A few minutes later the Rumpety wagon went creaking and groaning past the court-house. Ed Rankin stepped inside and got his leather jacket and woollen muffler. He met the jury straggling out with the crestfallen air of men conscious of an inglorious performance. The judge and the district attorney stood just within the door, waiting for the ranch-wagon.
"You are prepared, then, to argue your own case?" "I lave me case in the hands of me fahmily. Their testimony will clear me from the false accusations of me innimies. If thim as " "That will do, Mr. Rumpety." "If thim as are " "Mr. Rumpety, that will do."
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