Oh, foul! I have not, as a matter of fact, heard it uttered, I have only heard men say they disbelieve it completely. It is said that the original rumor came from Taliaferro, Morgan’s competitor, and a vile blotch of a man. The new one can only come from someone who hates Blaisedell completely and ruthlessly. I suspect McQuown, who must hate Blaisedell thus — as one must hate a man he has tried foully to wrong, and failed.
February 18, 1881
Blaisedell will go on trial to determine whether the deaths of Billy Gannon and Pony Benner were acts of murder or of self-defense.[1] If guilty, we of the Citizens’ Committee cannot be punished for our Crime, while Blaisedell can.
My thoughts are much occupied with Blaisedell now, as, of course, are those of everyone in Warlock. I find myself thinking of him with sadness, because of the canards visited upon him in absentia, that surely will in some degree and over the years stick to his name in the minds of men. Sadness, too, because he is, I am convinced, a good man, a fair, temperate, and reasonable man, a decent man and an honorable one; and, in the end, of course, he must die. Probably he will die by just the sort of foul trickery that was attempted upon his person in the Acme Corral. If not here, elsewhere. He is, after all, a killer; living by the six-shooter, he will no doubt perish by it. Other killers or would-be killers will be moved from time to time to try his mettle or to usurp his fame, and one day, even if he is not removed by treachery, his hand will lack the necessary swiftness.
It is curious that a man like Blaisedell, no less than outlaws such as Calhoun, Benner, Curley Burne, and McQuown, is referred to as a “Badman.” This describes more a man who is dangerous to meddle with than one murderously inclined, and yet the term has unhappy connotations, and I am more and more displeased to hear it applied to our Marshal.
Obviously Blaisedell must enjoy his role as angel with a sword or he would not undertake so dangerous a role, but can he endure to be called devil? Surely he will be acquitted and his name cleared in court. There are many men here who would walk to Bright’s City to testify in his behalf, were it necessary.
February 22, 1881
The trial is to begin tomorrow. Buck has gone in with the doctor, Morgan, the Skinner brothers, Sam Brown, and a number of others. I did not choose to make the onerous journey into Bright’s City myself since there is nothing except my high opinion of Blaisedell that I could offer the court. Nor do I wish to see our Marshal being questioned before a jury box full of Bright’s City fools. Those of the Citizens’ Committee who went in to attend the trial are to carry another appeal to General Peach that he legalize our situation in Warlock. I wish I had counted how many of these appeals have already been made. Doubtless this will meet the same fate as the others, although some hope is felt that General Peach will be forced to see, because of the trial, the extremes we have been brought to by his neglect. Those who are witnesses have been cautioned to mention this in court whenever possible.
A prospector has been reported murdered in the Dinosaurs, and in consequence there has been another rash of Apache rumors. It is embittering to think that Peach will no doubt get wind of this and bring the cavalry down to investigate, but will not hear our appeals for law. Not all Apaches are dark-skinned.
There are also reports of Mexican troops along the border again, probably on watch against rustlers crossing. One of Blaikie’s hands was wounded in an encounter with rustlers, and Deputy Gannon, I hear, has gone down to investigate. I wonder why he did not go up for trial. He roams the streets by night, while Schroeder has kept the jail by day; more morose than ever, cadaverously thin, his eyes like holes burnt in his skull. Poor fellow, he is condemned by some for having attempted to shield a villain of a brother, by others for not having attempted to avenge an heroic one.
February 25, 1881
The trial has been put off another week, and the witnesses have returned, grumbling. It appears that Friendly, who was thought to have fled the territory, is in Bright’s City where he will give evidence against Blaisedell. He is a fellow whom anyone but a fool would know on sight as a born liar. Blaisedell is not in jail, but resides at the Jim Bright Hotel and spends his days gambling. There is some talk about his not returning here to await the trial, but I can understand his not wishing to do so.
[1] It should be noted that the question seems never to have arisen as to whether or not Morgan should have been tried for the death of Calhoun.
25. GANNON GOES TO A HOUSEWARMING
I
FROM the doorway of the jail, Gannon saw her coming across the street from Goodpasture’s corner, her hands lifting her skirts as she waded through the dust, the cord of her reticule twisted around her wrist. Buck Slavin, walking up from the stageyard, tipped his hat and she stopped briefly to talk to him. But then she came on, and it was clear that she was coming to the jail.
He stepped back inside and sat down on a comer of the table. He had seen her many times in the last few weeks; always she would smile at him and more and more often stop to pass a few moments with him, which moments were always difficult ones, because he could think of nothing to say to her and always he had the feeling, after she had gone on, that he had disappointed her in some way.
He heard her steps. Then she was framed in the doorway, smiling at him, with the little court-plaster beauty mark very black against her pale face. “Good morning, Deputy.”
“Good morning, Miss Dollar,” he said, standing quickly upright. She glanced at the empty cell and took a handkerchief from her reticule and daubed at her temples. The bottom of her skirt was white with dust. Still, perspiring and dusty as she was, she was a handsome woman, and, standing before her, incapable of easy conversation, he felt intensely his own awkwardness, his own inadequacy and ugliness.
“It’s cool in here,” she said, and came a little farther inside.
“Yes, ma’am. And hot out.”
“I’ve rented a house.”
“You are lucky to find a house. Are you — I mean, I guess you are going to stay in Warlock awhile, then.”
“I’ve been here a month. I guess I am staying.” She was looking at the names scratched in the whitewashed wall. “It’s a pretty fair house,” she went on. “I rented it from a miner. Some boys from the livery stable are bringing my trunks around this afternoon.” She smiled at him with a mechanical tilt of her reddened lips. “I wondered if you would help me move in.”
“Why—” he said. “Why, I would surely appreciate to help, Miss Dollar. What time would you—”
“Toward five. I will try a hand at cooking some supper for us.” Then she smiled again, not so mechanically. “You don’t have to look worried. I can cook, Deputy.”
“I am sure!” he protested. “I will surely be pleased to come.”
Her eyes examined him in that way she had that was both careless and intense, as though she could see right through him, but at the same time as though she were searching for something. He had felt it most intensely when, after Billy’s death, he had met her on the street and she had stopped to say she was sorry about his brother.