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Updated: August 20, 2024
As one after another of the trembling family shuffled up to the witness-seat and swore, with hanging head and furtive eyes, that Dennis Rumpety was a kind husband and father, who never punished them "more than was just," this model parent sat with gleaming eyes and an evil smirk, resting his case upon the "testimony of his fahmily."
The woman glanced about her with wandering eyes. Then she shook her head. "Dinnis Rumpety? Sure he'll niver be dead!" "I tell you Dennis Rumpety is dead. I have killed him!" "You!" she shrieked. "The saints preserve ye!" It was a ghastly work to get that dishonored body across the corral while the spectral horse came sniffing after. Rankin wondered whether the dishonored soul could be far away.
"What's on this afternoon, judge?" asked Merriam the storekeeper, with the well-bred familiarity of a prominent citizen. "The Rumpety case, I believe." "Not much good, I suppose." "I'm afraid not," said the judge, glancing as he passed at the shivering woman and children. "I wonder if they have had any dinner," he queried, with sudden solicitude. "Yes. My wife looked after that.
He stood looking into the enclosure while Rumpety unharnessed "the critters" and put them up in an open shed. The corral was a comfortless, tumble-down place. The outlines of the crazy huts and sheds which enclosed it on three sides showed clear in the starlight.
With true prairie courtesy the men had placed chairs for the Rumpety "fahmily," and an unsuccessful attempt was made to converse with them on indifferent topics. Rumpety stood, plainly gloating over his victims, the queer gleam in his eyes growing more intense every minute. Mrs. Rumpety did not share her husband's confidence in the issue.
But the old veteran shook a stern head at his son. Rumpety! rumpety! rumpety! rump! Small wonder that the music was blaring forth again! For here were guests of great distinction Mr. Rockefeller, Mr. Astor and Mr. Vanderbilt. There was no mistaking them, for they wore millionaire hats, soft and velvety, and coats with fur collars.
The lamps had been lighted long ago, and the early winter evening had set in. The court took a recess, waiting the verdict of the jury. This was the last case on the trial docket for that day. Rumpety was standing, broad and unblushing, before the stove, whither, in obedience to his commands, his wife and children had also repaired.
The judge, referring to the list, announced that the next case would be "The people of the State of Colorado against Dennis Rumpety." Then, being called, Dennis Rumpety walked down the court-room and passed within the bar. The man looked fifty or thereabouts; a short, thick-set figure, with a large head covered with thick iron-gray hair.
"They say," said the district attorney, "that Rumpety never does a stroke of work." "Saves up his strength for bullying his family," the judge rejoined. "He takes good care of himself. Did you see how warmly he was dressed?" "Yes, curse him!" "It would be a mercy if the others were to freeze to death on the way home."
The words were flung like a missile into the face of the brute. With a cry of inarticulate rage Rumpety raised his long whip, and then, coward that he was, let it fall. Rankin never had a very clear idea of what happened next.
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