The Last Buckaroo (10 page)

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Woody
Clampett drove into town Sunday, just before noon, and checked in at the
hotel.  He then asked Ralph Longley, the hotel owner, to ring up Katie Peck. 
He wanted a sit down with her and Yancey Burke at the county jail.  She was
expecting him, and a half hour later the two of them entered the s
heriff
’
s
office.

Unfortunately
the sheriff wasn
’
t in and the deputy in
charge wasn
’
t at all cooperative. 
“
Nope,
nope, nope
…”
seemed
to be the entirety of the smallish, bearded man
’
s
vocabulary.

“
Can
you ring him?
”
Woody
suggested.

“
Nope.
”

“
Then
sir, as an officer of the court, you leave me no choice but to relieve you of
duty.  Your shameful conduct is contrary to both state and federal laws.  As an
attorney, ready access to my client is carved in stone, sir.  Even the Bible gives
mention of it.
”
  Upon saying that, and it was
obvious by the blank look on the deputy
’
s
face, he hadn
’
t understood a word said, Clampett
drew a large pistol from under his suit jacket and quickly disarmed him.  Then,
taking a ring of keys from a peg on the wall, Woody marched the little man,
hands up, through the jail room door, into a cell and locked it.

All
this was done to the surprise of Katie, who remained speechless the entire
time.  Knowing the part about the Bible was utter bull shit, she couldn
’
t
help but wonder what repercussions would arise once Preston Ames discovered
what had occurred here.

Anxious
to see Yancey, Katie dashed ahead.  One look at him and she couldn
’
t
believe how much better he looked since she was here last, on Friday morning. 
She wanted to come yesterday but spent the morning trying to locate Lester
Kingsley, who hadn
’
t been seen since
disappearing Friday night.  Gracie was beside herself for fear something bad
had happened to him this time.

Katie
reached through the bars and touched Yancey
’
s
face as he stepped up.  He looked disheveled and rumpled, but at least the
swelling in his face was down to near normal.

“
Katie
…”
Yancey said.

“
Sorry
I couldn
’
t
come yesterday.  I
…”

“
That
’
s
okay,
”
he said. 
“
I
don
’
t
remember much of it ...  That pain medicine caused me to sleep most of the day.
”

“
How
are you, Mister Burke?
”
  Woody came up,
unlocked the cell door and opened it. 
“
I
must say you look better than when I saw you at Terryville prison.
”
 
He took Yancey
’
s
extended hand for a firm shake.

“
I
’
m
all right,
”
Yancey
returned.
 
“
Could
use a bath is all
…
and maybe a change of
clothes.
”

“
I
’
ll
get you something before the day is out,
”
Katie
said. 
“
Helmer
is about your size.  I
’
m sure he wouldn
’
t
mind loaning you a suit for the trial.  The tub and hot water I can bring from
across the street, whenever you
’
re ready.
”

“
Maybe
after dark,
”
he
said, as if being naked in daylight was against his beliefs, regardless of who
was or was not around.

“
Yancey,
I don
’
t
think you have a thing to worry about,
”
Clampett said. 
“
For
one, the sheriff doesn
’
t have a shred of
evidence you did it
 — 
he
never does, except for his intuition.  For another, Katie has proof you couldn
’
t
have been there at the time Clyde was killed.  If that Kingsley can
’
t
be found, I
’
ll put her on the stand with the
statement he signed.
”
 
He turned to her. 
“
Good
work, Katie.
”

To
that Katie beamed.

“
And
there
’
s
another factor here; Sheriff Preston Ames isn
’
t
as popular as he once was.  There
’
s
a growing number of people in this county that now think his devil may care
style of law enforcement is no longer relevant.  And you have to figure, some
must worry the day will come when the man points his finger their way on some
trumped up charge.
”

Speaking
of Preston, a loud banging came on the jail door, which Woody Clampett had
locked from the inside, and in the little window appeared the angry face of
Sheriff Ames. 
“
What the hell is going
on in there?
”

“
A
lawyer
’
s
conference with my client, Sheriff,
”
Clampett returned as he
walked toward the door,
keys in hand.
 
“
It
’
s
all in accordance with the law, I assure you.
”

“
I
’
ll
be the judge of that, Clampett!
”
  Preston was
also angry Woody
’
s shiny new Packard was
parked in his usual spot out front.

“
I
’
m
afraid not.  I
’
ve already put your deputy under
arrest
 — 
I
can do the same with you, if necessary.
”

Once
the door was opened, Ames came through it in a huff.  But when he laid eyes on
Katie down the way he settled a bit. 
“
Give
me those keys,
”
he
yanked them from Woody Clampett
’
s hand and stepped
to release his deputy. 
“
What are you doing in
there, Weasel?  I said no visitors!  Get out of there!
”

The
deputy came stomping out. 
“
Well, he put me
in there
 — 
said
it was the law,
”
Weasel said and gestured to Clampett,
who towered over them both.

“
It
is the law, Sheriff, and you know it
…
you old coot!  Now leave us be so I can do my job.
”

“
Get
out, Weasel,
”
Preston
said and followed him out, closing the jail room door behind him.

Woody
and Katie spent another hour with Yancey before going their separate ways:
Clampett to the eatery to charm the locals, some of them potential jurors, and
Katie to the telephone office to ask Gracie Kingsley
’
s
mother Marta if Lester had showed up at home, before meeting him there.  She
wanted to talk to Helmer about borrowing the suit, anyway.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

The
decades-old county courthouse was a white painted wood sided structure of
little character.  It sat three blocks east of the s
heriff
’
s
office, at the very end of the main street.

Katie
entered the courtroom at a quarter of nine, passed beyond the rail and took a
seat directly behind Woody Clampett at the defense table.  Courtrooms were
nothing new to her.  With a father that was a prominent attorney in Nashville
and a grandfather that served as a Tennessee state judge, she practically grew
up in them.  And from that experience she learned an awful lot about the law. 
She dreamed as a child of becoming a lawyer herself one day, until that was
dampened by the fact women were not allowed to become educated in the law, nor
could they serve as lawyers.  This only made sense when she also learned from
her mother, females were not allowed to vote
 — 
and
still couldn
’
t to this day.  That may soon
change, though, and she was a supporter of that.  To her thinking, just because
a man had more visible working parts was not enough reason to grant them all of
the privileges.

A
few minutes later Sheriff Ames and Deputy Striker appeared to her left, and
between them was Yancey Burke, looking very handsome in the black suit she had
brought him along with a starched white shirt and blue string tie.  On his
feet, however, were his scuffed brown boots and on his head the dusty sugar
loaf hat, deeply creased from the crown midway down to the large brim.

They
took Yancey to the defense table and rather harshly forced him down into a
chair next to Clampett.  He turned to see Katie and just as he did Striker
snatched the hat from his head and dropped it to the floor.  This near caused
Yancey to come up again, but thought better of it, since his hands were cuffed
at his back.

“
Remove
the chains,
”
Clampett
ordered, when the two of them began to walk away.

At
that point Striker, with a nod from Sheriff Ames, removed the handcuffs and
left it at that.

“
And
the leg irons!
”
Clampett
demanded, a little louder this time.

This
brought laughter in the packed courtroom.  Striker angrily returned a second
time and completed the job.

Judge
Jethro Samuels, a small balding man with a near white, horse brush mustache,
entered through the side door at exactly nine.  He promptly climbed the steps
and seated himself at the bench.  He was not wearing a black robe, but rather a
somewhat baggy brown suit.  Nobody had announced him and nobody had risen to
their feet when he entered.  Katie thought this strange.  But then this was the
West, and as she knew all too well, things were done differently here.  It was
obvious to her now even common court procedure was not followed to its
exactness in this relatively new state of Montana
 — 
only
two decades old this year.

Judge
Samuels gaveled the courtroom quiet, then ordered the jury brought in. 
Striker, standing to the side, went to a door to the right of the bench, opened
it, and twelve jurors filed into the jury box, filling every available seat.

When
the noise settled the clerk announced:
“
We
are gathered here today for case number three thousand seven hundred and
eighty-five: Burr County, Montana versus Yancey Burke.  The charge is murder in
the first degree.
”

As
discussed with Woody Clampett yesterday, since he knew few people in the area,
Katie was to keep an eye out for any bad apples in the all male jury.  Most of
them she didn
’
t know at all, and were most likely
from the far reaches of the county.  But there was one she knew for a fact
disliked her, and because of that feared he may look unfavorably toward Yancey,
since everyone knew they were close friends.  Years ago the man had tried to
talk Helmer into firing her from the tavern, claiming she was too young and
good looking to be the bartender of an establishment patronized mostly by men. 
Surely wives will become jealous
…
marriages will suffer
…
and divorces will occur because of her, he
’
d
prophesied.  Of course nothing of the sort had come to pass.  But that hadn
’
t
made this man any less hateful toward her, when occasionally they came face to
face on the street.  At that point he always turned away, as if ashamed to be
in her near company.

On
a pad of paper brought for the purpose she wrote:
“
Top
row
 — 
third
man from the left,
”
and slipped it to
Woody.

Yancey
also spotted a man whom he
’
d once had a run
in with
 — 
over
a horse trade gone bad.  The man had lied about the horse
’
s
age.  Upon later examination he discovered teeth missing, a sure sign the
animal was much older, and demanded his money back.  The man refused and Yancey
was forced to other measures.  After a good shellacking and soak in the river,
the hombre finally saw it his way.  Yancey pointed the man out.

Clampett
rose to his feet. 
“
Your Honor
,
I have two jurors I
’
d like removed from the
panel for possible conflicts.
”

At
that point the county prosecutor, Lane Wilson, a bone lean bushy haired man of
fifty, who just happened to be a distant cousin of Judge Samuels, sprang to his
feet.
 
“
Your
Honor
,
must we allow this man to do this every single time he comes to this court?  It
’
s
hard enough finding twelve responsible people in this county, to give of their
time, without him running rough shod over the entire group.
”

“
I
’
m
not running rough shod over anyone, Your Honor.  Why, I can see from here these
are fine upstanding gentlemen.  It
’
s
just that over the years I
’
ve developed a
keen eye for those who may not physically be up to the task.  Now we wouldn
’
t
want to get halfway through this thing and have to start over because one of
our jurors had a heart attack, would we?  Besides that, it
’
s
in accordance with the law.  If the prosecutor had a hand in picking them, as I
suspect he did, the defense has a right to change that selection within
reason.  And I don
’
t think two is
unreasonable.
”

Looking
guilty, Wilson found something interesting on one of his hands and scratched at
it.

“
Pick
your eliminations, Mister Clampett,
”
the judge said,
appearing put out.

At
this point, the jurors began looking about the panel in search of two that may
appear so feeble they may croak before trial
’
s
end.  Then once the eliminations were made the remainder took a sigh of relief,
content Attorney Clampett thought them worthy of the task.

The
judge then asked for a show of hands of those in the gallery who may want to
serve as a juror.  Eight of the hundred or so males of the room raised their
hands.

The
judge then dug in his pocket and came out with stick matches of which he
counted out eight.  Out of sight of anyone who may be watching, he broke two of
them short and brought them back up stick first in his hand. 
“
Come
forward, gentlemen.
”
 
Each man went to the bench and selected
a match until two came up with headless ones.  Those then took their rightful
place in the jury box.

One
of those replacements, Katie was delighted to see, was Jake Pearson, the old
farmer from north of town.  She knew he had no love for Clyde Banyon, the way
he
’
d
carried on in the tavern the day of the funeral.

With
that done, Judge Samuels said,
“
Mister Wilson,
do you have an opening statement?
”

Wilson
got to his feet. 
“
You all know why we
’
re
here today,
”
he
said as he approached the jury. 
“
We
’
re
here to avenge the cold blooded murder of Clyde Banyon.  Many of you may have
known him, but for those of you who didn
’
t,
Clyde was a good man
…”

With
that the gallery erupted in laughter and the judge needed to gavel them down
again. 
“
Be
careful what you
’
re doing out there!  If
I have to, I
’
ll clear the courtroom!  Do you
understand?
”
 
With
that many of them actually answered in the positive:
“
Yes,
”
“
Yep
”
and
“
Yo!
”

“
I
knew Clyde well,
”
Lane Wilson continued,
“
Not
only through his services at the livery he owned
 — 
free
and clear of any debt, I might add
 — 
but
also from the faith we shared.  Clyde Banyon was a Godly man, folks
…”

“
Clyde
Banyon never set foot in a church the entirety of his miserable life!
”
someone shouted from
the gallery.
 
“
I
know that for a fact!  Hell, Miss Mary Boil gave him a bible once, hoping that
may bring Godliness to his heathen ways.  Guess what?  Clyde took it to the
outhouse.  I saw it there with half the pages missing
…
he was all the way up
to Jeremiah
…”

Again
the gallery roared with laughter.

Through
all of this the judge gaveled.  He then shouted,
“
Sheriff,
”
and pointed the handle of the gavel to the guilty party, the fully bearded man
who had spoken, dressed in overalls and a red and black plaid shirt.
“
Remove
that man!
”

Preston
Ames, who was stationed at the side door, moved quickly toward the man.  To get
to him, he had to step over outstretched legs, from those who spitefully
refused to move them out of the way.  Then once he was collared, the man
shouted in continuation,
“
I thought we were after
the truth here?  Clyde was a heathen through and through, Judge, and you know
it.
”

“
I
know no such thing, Wilber.  Take him out!
”

Once
Wilber was out the door and things quieted down, Lane Wilson was lost for
words.  He studied the faces of the jurors for an embarrassingly long time,
then simply went to his table and seated himself.

“
Are
you finished, Mister Wilson?
”
Judge Samuels
asked.

“
I
’
ve
said all I have to say, for the moment.  The evil deed of that madman will come
forth soon enough,
”
Wilson said.  He then cast a finger
toward the defense table, where, of course, Yancey Burke sat alongside Woody
Clampett
 — 
who
presently had a pleased look on his face.

“
Mister
Clampett,
”
the
judge said.

“
Gentlemen
…”
 
Woody stood.
 
“
I
’
m
not here to bore you with a bunch of horse biscuits about what a great man my
client is.  But I will say this: Yancey Burke never killed anyone
…
ever!
”
 
His voice boomed.
 
“
I
want you all to pay close attention to the so-called facts that will surely be
presented here.  As usual the Burr County sheriff will take the stand and say
the defendant is guilty as sin of the crime charged
…
 
Don
’
t
believe him.  As far as other testimony, the prosecutor will most likely parade
a variety of witnesses before you, most with tidbits of information that is
meant to dazzle and confuse what is truth.  Be very watchful of what is said
…
most likely these people will have been coached
…
and there
’
ll
be no truth at all in what they say. 
‘
Anything
to get a conviction
’
is the prosecutor
’
s
motto.
”