A Kangaroo Court on the Big Bend Road

Surroundings and characters — A small card room in the rear of a saloon, owned and conducted by a genial, good-natured individual with a sandy mustache and a continual grin on his phiz; a huge pile of wood that, if varnished, would impress a new-comer as a favorable place to spend a winter's evening or spin a yarn, but at the present time occupied by 'the Chair,' whose long legs dangle here and there down its sides, and finally wind up on a projecting stick, where they rest with seeming comfort. In the center of the room is a large stove, surrounded at the present writing by a crowd of farmers, stockmen and herders, while underneath lies a shabby dog, with one blue and one white eye, the latter being closed, while the former glares at the individual on the wood pile with a considerable degree of mistrust, mingled with awe, and impressing one with the opinion that he thinks considerably more than he says. In one corner are seated two [peaceable?] looking chaps (the prisoners, charged with 'selling whisky to Indians') guarded over by a marshal, whose nose indicates bravery and great detective power. In the opposite corner the witnesses are seated, consisting of two or three farm hands, and an Indian. The attorneys for the prosecution and defense are scattered about, and can be distinguished by the fact that they have their hats off, and bear themselves with an air of importance. An individual with a gray beard and a bald head, who is continually squirming from one attorney to the other, looking wisely, hopping up to the Chair, then back again to the attorney, then assuming the wise expression again, makes up the group.

'The court will please come to order,' says the Judge, as he lifts one of his shins and lets it drop heavily upon the projecting stick. Silence reigns, and the usual preliminaries being gone through with, the attorneys proceed to examine the witnesses.

'You short witness in the corner, stand up and be sworn,' says the all-powerful chair, as he brings his foot down on the projecting stick with an energy that opens the white eye of the dog, and causes the witness to start and tremble.

'What's yer name, an' whar d'ye live?' roared the chair.

'Live in the Big Bend—' 'Address the Court!' interrupts the Judge, as the frightened youth rolls his eyes around as if looking for a place to drop through.

'I live in the Big Bend, and my name's Josiah S—. I saw that Injun have a can of wh—.'

'Not so fast!' puts in the attorney for the defense. 'Answer questions as they are put to you, and don't say nothin' else.'

'What did you say was in that can?' asked the prosecution.

'Wh—.'

'Shut up!' yells the defense. 'I object to the question. It's leadin', an' I object to leadin' questions.'

'I'll settle that point myself, an' besides, I'll have yer all to understand I'm runnin' this shebang myself. If there's any objection's to be made, I'll make 'em myself. What did yer say was in that can?' roared the Chair.

'Whis—.'

'Hold on!' objects the defense. 'Point right, an' I won't have it!'

'Go ahead, I say,' says the Chair. 'I'll leave it to the crowd.'

A murmur of dissatisfaction from the crowd settled the question in dispute, and the answer was withheld. A few more questions and the short witness was dismissed, an object of envy to the audience. The other white witnesses were soon done away with, and the Indian placed on the stand. An interpreter was sworn in, and the proceedings continued.

'Ask him he'll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,' says the Judge.

The question was propounded and the Indian sworn in.

'Are you an honest Injun?' inquired the Judge.

'Hiyu chookum Injun no tellum lie. Heap good!'

'Yer can't believe a word he says,' put in the white-haired [attorney]. 'Besides, I'm an American citizen, an' I propose to see this thing done up. I want to settle the question right here without doubt. I'll bet yer twenty dollars that 'ar Injun hain't no good, an' if I convict them two fellers on his evidence yer haint no better nor a Injun yerself!'

It proved too much for the [court], and imposing a fine on Mr. Bald-Head large enough to treat the crowd (including the writer, who smoked a mild cigar), the prisoners were discharged, and 'Injun,' the poor Injun, surrounded by a pair of hand-cuffs, as a guarantee that he would not purchase more whisky during the present evening.

The writer would feel much pleased if a notice had been placed upon the [road] that steers parties through the Big Bend — on the short road to the Big Bend — to the effect that 'This road is closed,' thereby turning him out of his course several miles to take a glimpse at the forlorn town above mentioned, instead of upon the grimy wrists of 'Lo.' — M.