The Witness by Richard S. Wheeler

Author:Richard S. Wheeler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: honor, courage, integrity, virtue
Publisher: Richard S. Wheeler

Chapter 19

Daniel Knott pleaded not guilty at the arraignment. Judge Boardman set bail at a thousand dollars and told the prisoner that he was entitled to a lawyer.

"Everything I possess is tied up by the civil suit. I have no way of making bail, and no way to pay a lawyer," Knott said.

"Then you have a problem. I will take the matter under advisement," the judge said. "Your assets are under the supervision of this court."

Knott didn’t like the tone of the man presiding behind that raised bench. It all reminded him that this was Amos Burch’s courthouse, as well as Burch’s town. Boardman was Burch’s hand-picked candidate for the office. The man had a red-veined nose that suggested an intimacy with spirituous drink.

"Do you want a lawyer?"

"Yes."

"I’ll appoint Eben Lytell. He’s not a bank director, not employed by Amos Burch, and therefore he can serve."

"He turned me down. I’d prefer an attorney from Durango."

"I’ve appointed Lytell."

There was a finality about all that. Knott said nothing. There was nothing to say to these people. He felt like a rabbit in the claws of an eagle.

"Docket’s almost empty. I’ll set a trail date for early January." Boardman peered over his rimless spectacles. "That suit you?"

Knott nodded.

"You will answer yes or no, Knott. The recorder can’t report a nod."

"Yes," Knott said. His rising temper was pushing him to say much more, but he clamped his mouth shut.

So his attorney was to be Myrtle Burch’s attorney, a man who had refused him and considered his defense outlandish, and the ruin of Myrtle’s case.

The sheriff led Knott back to the cold jail and herded him into a dark cell.

"I would like you to tell my wife I’m here," he said.

Kennear smiled. Knott wondered if that was a yes or a no or just meanness.

The gray-enameled door clanged and suddenly Knott felt a helplessness such as he had never experienced in his life. He could not walk away. He studied the ten-foot-square confines of his cell, seeing a hard bunk with a one-inch thick excuse for mattress, a slop pail, and a brown blanket. No pillow. Something stank of puke. The stone walls exuded coldness. This cell was going to suck his life’s heat right out of him.

From now on, his meals, his very life, depended on others. His contacts with other mortals depended on others. Whether he could even see Hannah depended on others. He was going to have much too much time. How did one spend minutes and hours and days in such a place? If he needed a doctor, who would come? If he went mad, who would care? If he died, who would find out?

A single high window bled in some miserly light; scarcely enough to read by, even mid-day; not enough to read at all for most of the hours he would be here.

Who would help him? Who would get him out on bail? Who could truly make his case before Judge Boardman and a jury?

He peered about, able to see several other cells in the jailhouse.

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