yesterday."
"The president judge went off to Corydon, but the side judges are around."
"All side and no judges."
The voices cackled. They were making fun behind him, like going to a quilting or a bee. Bedwell seemed to like it. He squirmed around on his horse, smiled at the men following, and said to the sheriff, "I hope we can get this over with quick. I got to get on."
The courthouse was a long, low building, made of logs. "Tie up here," the sheriff said to Bedwell, and hitched his own horse at the rack. "I'll take the rifle, and your horn and pouch." He motioned them inside. "Git the coroner for me, will you?" he asked one of the men before he went in.
Boone found himself in that part of the room meant for judges and lawyers and the jury and people who were lawing. At the front of it were a platform and a high bench, and behind the high bench was another bench, with a back to it, to sit on. Out from the platform were three tables and some chairs, and at the side of it were places for the jury to sit. The section was separated from the rest of the room by a pole which ran from side to side and was tied to the walls. Beyond the pole were hewn benches for those who wanted to watch and listen. A few people already sat there, and more were coming, entering through a door at the other side of the pole. The sheriff motioned, "Set down." A dark little man with eyes like wet acorns touched the sheriff on the arm. The sheriff said, "Hello, Charlie. We got to get set. Seen Eggleston and the judges?"
"They're across, havin' one."
The sheriff took Bedwell by the arm. "Watch this here boy, will you, Charlie?" he said to the dark little man. The man sat down. The sheriff and Bedwell went out.
The section beyond the pole was filling. The voices made a single, steady noise in the room, a noise without words, rising and falling but still steady, coming at a man like waves and washing up on him. The people stopped and looked up front as they came in and then went and sat down and looked up again and began to talk, their voices going into the wave.
After while the door beside Boone opened to let in the sheriff and Bedwell and half a dozen other men. Two of them stepped up on the judges' platform and sat down and waited there, quiet and open-eyed, like owls in the light. One of them had a body like an egg, and a red face and eyes with little rivers of blood running in them. The other was pale and had eyes like a sick hound. He slumped back when he sat down and didn't make a motion, letting his eyes go over everything as if nothing mattered. A third man went to a little table and put a big book on it and sat down behind it and got out a pen. The sheriff nudged Boone to his feet and pushed him over in front of the judges. The redveined eyes fastened on him. "What's your name, boy?"
"Boone Caudill."
"You are charged with assault and battery. Guilty or not guilty?"
"I ain't done nothin'."
"Not guilty, then. Ready to stand trial?"
When Boone didn't answer the red eyes flicked impatiently. "Here, this boy needs counsel." The eyes picked out a man. "Squire Beecher."
One of the half-dozen men who had just come in stepped forward. "Yes, your honor." He wore a brown coat with a rolling collar and underneath it a lighter-colored vest. His hair was thick and straw-colored, and at the nape of his neck it flowed into a queue, tied with some kind of skin, which reached to his tail. He looked to be twentyfive or twenty-six years old.
"Can you take the defense? The court doubts if there's a fee in it." The man nodded slowly, and the judge went on, "Eggleston says the state's ready. We got a jury, from yesterday."
"Give me a minute," asked Squire Beecher.
"Sure thing. Take the defendant into the grand jury room. Then we'll git on."
"Suppose you tell me all about it," said Squire Beecher after they had sat down in the other room. There was a table in it, and twelve chairs, and five or six spittoons that reared up, widemouthed, as if begging for
"The president judge went off to Corydon, but the side judges are around."
"All side and no judges."
The voices cackled. They were making fun behind him, like going to a quilting or a bee. Bedwell seemed to like it. He squirmed around on his horse, smiled at the men following, and said to the sheriff, "I hope we can get this over with quick. I got to get on."
The courthouse was a long, low building, made of logs. "Tie up here," the sheriff said to Bedwell, and hitched his own horse at the rack. "I'll take the rifle, and your horn and pouch." He motioned them inside. "Git the coroner for me, will you?" he asked one of the men before he went in.
Boone found himself in that part of the room meant for judges and lawyers and the jury and people who were lawing. At the front of it were a platform and a high bench, and behind the high bench was another bench, with a back to it, to sit on. Out from the platform were three tables and some chairs, and at the side of it were places for the jury to sit. The section was separated from the rest of the room by a pole which ran from side to side and was tied to the walls. Beyond the pole were hewn benches for those who wanted to watch and listen. A few people already sat there, and more were coming, entering through a door at the other side of the pole. The sheriff motioned, "Set down." A dark little man with eyes like wet acorns touched the sheriff on the arm. The sheriff said, "Hello, Charlie. We got to get set. Seen Eggleston and the judges?"
"They're across, havin' one."
The sheriff took Bedwell by the arm. "Watch this here boy, will you, Charlie?" he said to the dark little man. The man sat down. The sheriff and Bedwell went out.
The section beyond the pole was filling. The voices made a single, steady noise in the room, a noise without words, rising and falling but still steady, coming at a man like waves and washing up on him. The people stopped and looked up front as they came in and then went and sat down and looked up again and began to talk, their voices going into the wave.
After while the door beside Boone opened to let in the sheriff and Bedwell and half a dozen other men. Two of them stepped up on the judges' platform and sat down and waited there, quiet and open-eyed, like owls in the light. One of them had a body like an egg, and a red face and eyes with little rivers of blood running in them. The other was pale and had eyes like a sick hound. He slumped back when he sat down and didn't make a motion, letting his eyes go over everything as if nothing mattered. A third man went to a little table and put a big book on it and sat down behind it and got out a pen. The sheriff nudged Boone to his feet and pushed him over in front of the judges. The redveined eyes fastened on him. "What's your name, boy?"
"Boone Caudill."
"You are charged with assault and battery. Guilty or not guilty?"
"I ain't done nothin'."
"Not guilty, then. Ready to stand trial?"
When Boone didn't answer the red eyes flicked impatiently. "Here, this boy needs counsel." The eyes picked out a man. "Squire Beecher."
One of the half-dozen men who had just come in stepped forward. "Yes, your honor." He wore a brown coat with a rolling collar and underneath it a lighter-colored vest. His hair was thick and straw-colored, and at the nape of his neck it flowed into a queue, tied with some kind of skin, which reached to his tail. He looked to be twentyfive or twenty-six years old.
"Can you take the defense? The court doubts if there's a fee in it." The man nodded slowly, and the judge went on, "Eggleston says the state's ready. We got a jury, from yesterday."
"Give me a minute," asked Squire Beecher.
"Sure thing. Take the defendant into the grand jury room. Then we'll git on."
"Suppose you tell me all about it," said Squire Beecher after they had sat down in the other room. There was a table in it, and twelve chairs, and five or six spittoons that reared up, widemouthed, as if begging for
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