many firepokers? You’d have to hire assistants in your war against order. You’re a busy man, Mr. Sutter. All those widows to create, homes to burn, land to salt. I’ve been checking on you, Mr. Sutter. That’s the way you’ve lived your entire life.
Wiggins was objecting vehemently. The defendant is not on trial for his entire life, he told the judge. Only a particularsegment of it.
Confine yourself to the matter at hand, the judge told Schieweiler. The jury is instructed to disregard the prosecutor’s remarks, he added.
Is it not a fact that you addressed Mrs. Conkle as ‘widow’ just prior to her husband’s shooting?
Don’t pop your bug eyes at me, Schieweiler, Sutter said. I don’t know what you want from me. All I was doin was defendin myself. I come and got the law myself, I never tried to hide nothin. Why would I lay a poker in the wrong hand and then call the law?
I don’t know, Mr. Sutter. I’m here to try to extract the truth from you, not psychoanalyze you. Did you call her ‘widow Conkle’ or not?
No. I swear to God I did not.
When the trial was over and Sutter acquitted, Schieweiler still could not let it be. He followed Sutter to the courthouse steps in a rage he didn’t even try to conceal.
You may think this is over, Mr. Sutter, but I can assure you that it is not. I’m going back to Nashville, and there is going to be an investigation of this case and this tainted jury from the top to the bottom. I’m going to get you for something if it’s only spitting on the sidewalk.
You just a bad loser, Sutter said. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. Small yellow canary feathers about his jaws.
Your day is drawing to a close. You can intimidate these people with threats, but you can’t intimidate me.
Sutter was fumbling about his overalls pockets. He heldan imaginary pencil poised over an imaginary pad. Now what did you say your street address was? I might want to drop in on you some night. I’m over in Ackerman’s Field ever now and then.
The first cold spell of winter has routed the old men from their habitual benches on the courthouse lawn and the warm stove in Sam Long’s store has drawn them as a magnet attracts iron filings.
What always got me about him was the way he could justslide out of anything. Killin, burnin, sellin whiskey. He sold bootleg whiskey out of the front door of his house for fifteen year and never even got arrested. They used to worry old man Moose Tyler to death raidin him and finally did send him up to Brushy Mountain for a year or two.
Yeah. And killin folks. He told me one time, said, it’s more people than Fenton Breece can bury somebody. Everbody knowed he killed Clyde Conkle in cold blood, but he never drawed a day for it. They let him walk. You take old man Bookbinder up in the Harrikin. His wife took up with one of them Hankins boys and run off and sent Hankins back to get a bedstead or somethin. Bookbinder was goin to run him off, and he wouldn’t run. They took to scufflin and Hankins got killed. They stuck a stamp on Bookbinder and mailed him straight to the penitentiary. He done ten year. I guess he never had none of Sutter’s luck.
It was the middle of the night when Breece knocked but almost immediately the tiny door-within-a-door opened and a goldflecked eye was regarding him.
Whoever sent for you lied, Sutter said. I’m still alive and kickin.
Breece guessed this was Sutter’s idea of a joke. He wasn’t amused. I need to talk to you on business, he said. Let me in. It’s cold out here.
The door opened. Sutter was fully dressed, as if he slept in his clothes or he slept not at all. The room was dark save a warmorange glow from the woodstove.
Turn the lights on. I can’t see where I am.
You in my front room and you ain’t been here thirty seconds and you done givin me orders.
Breece wandered around in the halfdark and finally seated himself in a bentwood rocker by the fire and spread his hands to the warmth of the heater. He
Wiggins was objecting vehemently. The defendant is not on trial for his entire life, he told the judge. Only a particularsegment of it.
Confine yourself to the matter at hand, the judge told Schieweiler. The jury is instructed to disregard the prosecutor’s remarks, he added.
Is it not a fact that you addressed Mrs. Conkle as ‘widow’ just prior to her husband’s shooting?
Don’t pop your bug eyes at me, Schieweiler, Sutter said. I don’t know what you want from me. All I was doin was defendin myself. I come and got the law myself, I never tried to hide nothin. Why would I lay a poker in the wrong hand and then call the law?
I don’t know, Mr. Sutter. I’m here to try to extract the truth from you, not psychoanalyze you. Did you call her ‘widow Conkle’ or not?
No. I swear to God I did not.
When the trial was over and Sutter acquitted, Schieweiler still could not let it be. He followed Sutter to the courthouse steps in a rage he didn’t even try to conceal.
You may think this is over, Mr. Sutter, but I can assure you that it is not. I’m going back to Nashville, and there is going to be an investigation of this case and this tainted jury from the top to the bottom. I’m going to get you for something if it’s only spitting on the sidewalk.
You just a bad loser, Sutter said. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. Small yellow canary feathers about his jaws.
Your day is drawing to a close. You can intimidate these people with threats, but you can’t intimidate me.
Sutter was fumbling about his overalls pockets. He heldan imaginary pencil poised over an imaginary pad. Now what did you say your street address was? I might want to drop in on you some night. I’m over in Ackerman’s Field ever now and then.
The first cold spell of winter has routed the old men from their habitual benches on the courthouse lawn and the warm stove in Sam Long’s store has drawn them as a magnet attracts iron filings.
What always got me about him was the way he could justslide out of anything. Killin, burnin, sellin whiskey. He sold bootleg whiskey out of the front door of his house for fifteen year and never even got arrested. They used to worry old man Moose Tyler to death raidin him and finally did send him up to Brushy Mountain for a year or two.
Yeah. And killin folks. He told me one time, said, it’s more people than Fenton Breece can bury somebody. Everbody knowed he killed Clyde Conkle in cold blood, but he never drawed a day for it. They let him walk. You take old man Bookbinder up in the Harrikin. His wife took up with one of them Hankins boys and run off and sent Hankins back to get a bedstead or somethin. Bookbinder was goin to run him off, and he wouldn’t run. They took to scufflin and Hankins got killed. They stuck a stamp on Bookbinder and mailed him straight to the penitentiary. He done ten year. I guess he never had none of Sutter’s luck.
It was the middle of the night when Breece knocked but almost immediately the tiny door-within-a-door opened and a goldflecked eye was regarding him.
Whoever sent for you lied, Sutter said. I’m still alive and kickin.
Breece guessed this was Sutter’s idea of a joke. He wasn’t amused. I need to talk to you on business, he said. Let me in. It’s cold out here.
The door opened. Sutter was fully dressed, as if he slept in his clothes or he slept not at all. The room was dark save a warmorange glow from the woodstove.
Turn the lights on. I can’t see where I am.
You in my front room and you ain’t been here thirty seconds and you done givin me orders.
Breece wandered around in the halfdark and finally seated himself in a bentwood rocker by the fire and spread his hands to the warmth of the heater. He
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