The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories

When I come to again I was in the cabin and several men were leaning over me. One of them was in uniform and I recognized him for the Chief of Police of Clinton.

I hear them talking a minute; how they had come across Willie Thompson staggering down the road and how they had come out to the cabin; and I gathered that Feather-Face had beat it — then curtains again.

I was all right — that is, to a certain extent — when I come to again. But I was in the coop, which was not so good. Yep, I opened my eyes in the jail at Clinton and a doctor was bending over me.

He had a real friendly face and his talk was good.

“You sure did for that gang,” he said. “I hope you come out of it all right. Oh, not your head — it must be as hard as rock — you’re all right there. I mean this little killing. You have a good lawyer — none better — and the judge has no use for the Klan. Thompson has told him his story — and it’s not a pretty one. Man, I tell you you have a first-class lawyer. I hear that it’s fixed up to release you on bail — on a writ of habeas corpus, they call it.”

“Then I’ll get out all right,” I said, relieved, for I had the idea that the Klan ran the town.

“Oh, the judge is with you, but the Klan — you see, there is a threat about town — death to the party that goes on your bail — and the trouble is that the people fear the Klan. They have a habit of making good on these little threats. Why, no one can visit you — the Klan’s orders again — of course they wouldn’t forbid you medical attention.”

“Then no one will have the nerve to go my bail?”

I sure was some surprised.

“That remains to be seen.” He shook his head, but there didn’t seem to be much hope in his voice.

But he didn’t tell me then that there also was a threat to storm the jail and there was much talk about asking for the State troops to be sent over.

And that’s that. I didn’t get much time to think; my mouthpiece sure did work fast, for by that afternoon I was hustled out of the jail by the Chief of Police and three or four other highly nervous gentlemen and rushed into court.

Some court; just one long, low-ceilinged room with great big windows on either side of it. It was warm and the windows were open and the bright sun shone in. But the faces about me — there was nothing bright and comforting about them; hostile, hard faces they were, and a murmur, a threatening murmur of disapproval, ran through the room as I was led before the judge’s bench. The judge was hard too, but his face was honest and almost defiant as he looked over the crowded courtroom.

My lawyer was there and talking, but I didn’t get much of what he said, but I guess the judge was hurrying things along; the people looked like they might act up bad any minute. The District Attorney was objecting to everything — I wasn’t surprised — I’d heard that he was mighty close in with the Klan.

Then the judge come out flat-footed and named the bail — not a large sum, neither; and he hammered on the bench as a low rumble of protest went up from the packed courtroom.

Then my lawyer says, slow and calm:

“Your honor, I have the bondsman here.”

My, you could hear a pin drop when he said that, and half the court stood up and looked around where the lawyer had pointed toward the door at the rear.

There comes a sudden rattling of windows from both sides; I look first at one of the big windows and then the other. There, on the two opposite window sills, had appeared the huge, stalwart frames of the Jabine boys. Motionless as statues they stood with their rifles swung loose beneath their armpits.

“Buck Jabine!”

I hear the hoarse whisper go up from ten voices at once. And I look toward the back door of the courtroom.

Right through the swinging doors had come Buck Jabine, his head erect, his eyes looking neither to left nor right. Straight between that path of gaping, angry faces, he made his way until he reached the bench. Not a hand was raised to stop him — not a mouth voiced even anger. You see, everyone there knew Buck Jabine and the boys. Two minutes later and everything was Jake.

So it was that I left the courthouse a free man and joined the procession of the Jabines. I was third in that single-file line as we made our way up the Main Street and out into the open country toward the Jabine farm. Not a word did we speak — just hoofed it along. I wondered then if I made as forbidding an appearance as the family.

Thompson and his son were at the Jabine house and such a welcome you never did see. And the Jabines took it all without a smile — they were all business and no mistake.

Of course I got the lowdown on the whole affair from the Thompsons. Willie Thompson had made some discoveries about the murder at the town twenty miles away — it was Feather-Face and his three friends what had pulled it off in the name of the Klan. There was robbery behind it and Willie had come across that little cabin in the hills and seen them splitting some of the swag. Enough! They nailed him and was just waiting for things to blow over a bit before they bumped him off and let his body float away below the cliff.

After that things happened in town. The real story came out and I was never even brought before the Grand Jury. It appears that even with the truth most of the Grand Jury wanted to hold me at first — you see, they were thick with the Klan. Then things started.