Read Online Death Waits at Sundown by L. Ron Hubbard - Free Book Online Page B

I—”
    â€œYou are convinced of
that, are you?” said Susan icily.
    â€œShore. Everybody
knows—”
    â€œYou’re willing to
condemn a man before he’s even tried! You despise him because he’s half-Indian
and half-white! You’re just like the rest of these barbarous men! The poor
fellow hasn’t a chance of a fair trial! Get out of my sight!”
    Big Bill didn’t move.
He was too stunned. He stood revolving his hat round and round while Susan
entered the house. Finally, very puzzled, he went out and climbed his horse and
rode disconsolately away.
    Sam Price heard the
hoofbeats and glanced out of his study window. He sat up straight and laid John
Marshall aside. Susan came in.
    â€œWhat’s the matter
with Big Bill?” said Sam Price. “He looked pretty sad. Have a fight?”
    â€œHe’s a fool!” said
Susan.
    Sam Price leaned back
in the Morris chair . “So you did have a fight. What about?”
    Susan sat down on the
arm of his chair and ran her fingers thoughtfully through his sparse gray
locks. “Dad, you’ve got to do me a favor.”
    Sam Price suspected
something was coming and he knew there wasn’t much use trying to fight it. The
very futility of the effort caused his jaw to set in a hostile manner.
    â€œIf it’s more Mexicans
and sheep, I am telling you positively that I am not interested. These matters
are in the hands of the men they concern and my jurisdiction ends with the
front door.”
    â€œNow, Dad,” said Susan.
    â€œDon’t you ‘Now, Dad’
me, Susan Price. My mind is made up. I don’t care what has happened, I won’t be
a party to it and that’s final.”
    Gruffly he sat back
again and pulled John Marshall into his lap and began to open the pages. There
was a long silence and then in a high-pitched, angry voice he demanded, “Well,
dammit, what is it?”
    â€œThey caught a man
named Spick Murphy and they’re determined to hang him as a rustler and murderer
as an example to the outlaws in Rio Carlos. He’s a fine-looking young fellow,
half-Apache, half-Irish. . . .”
    â€œToo many outlaws
around here anyway,” said Sam. “Anything that isn’t nailed down turns up
missing. See here, young woman, I have definitely retired and nothing short of
an earthquake could get me in front of a jury box again. I refuse to have
anything to do with it!”
    Again he turned to
John Marshall and turned a few more pages.
    â€œWell,” he demanded,
explosively. “What chance has he got?”
    â€œNone,” replied Susan.
“Without real evidence, they are determined that he is going to die.”
    â€œWithout real
evidence? Why, that’s . . . But no! No, dammit, you’re not going to get me into
a courtroom over a half-breed. You’ve been reading out of my library. I know you have. You haven’t been the same since you read Elizabeth Fry on prison reform
and crime! To hell with Elizabeth Fry!”
    He got up, almost
knocking her off the arm of his chair. He advanced across the room and poured a
drink.
    â€œWell? What’s public
opinion got against him?”
    â€œThey’re going to make
him suffer for every crime which has been committed in San Carlos and Rio
Carlos.”
    â€œHuh,”
said Sam. “He couldn’t have done all of them. Not fair to make one man pay the
whole cost. . . . No! I won’t defend him! I won’t have anything to do with him!
I tell you I have retired!”
    A nd so it was that Sam Price
stood in the San Carlos courtroom the following month, defending Spick Murphy
on the charge of rustling and murder.
    And Sam Price was Sam
Price, and though Con Mathews had been most diligent in capturing Spick Murphy
in the Cordilleras and though Sheriff Doyle had long been on the trail of the
defendant, it soon became clear to all that both men had been most lamentably
careless about