Shootout of the Mountain Man Read Online Free PDF

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    “Then I am prepared.”
    Bobby Lee watched his lawyer waddle through the door and close it behind him. Now, for the first time since being put in jail, he began to think that he was not going to be able to get out of this.
    At two o’clock that afternoon, Deputy Beard led a handcuffed Bobby Lee into the courtroom, which was actually the ballroom of the Depot Hotel.
    “Sit over there behind that table,” Beard said, pointing to a table at which sat the still-sweating Jack Reid.
    “Good luck, Bobby Lee,” someone called, and looking toward the crowded gallery, he saw Doc Baker, the man who had called out to him, Nate Nabors, and Minnie Smith. Nabors owned the Gold Strike Saloon and Minnie worked for him.
    Minnie smiled bravely at him, and Bobby Lee smiled back.
    Those three seemed to represent the only friendly faces in the entire crowd. In the face of nearly every other person present, he saw anger and hatred of the man they had already convicted in their own minds. Just across from Bobby Lee sat Ray Roswell, the prosecutor. He was tall, dignified-looking, with piercing blue eyes and silver hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard. He was wearing a suit that fit his slender body well. Bobby Lee groaned inwardly. If the jury was going to make its decision on the appearance of the respective lawyers, he had already lost.
    When he looked toward the jury box, Bobby Lee saw not one friendly face. He only recognized one juror, and it was a man he had beaten in a game of poker a few weeks earlier. The man had lost a considerable amount of money, and had accused everyone else at the table, including Bobby Lee, of cheating.
    Sheriff Wallace came in through another door, stood just inside the door, and called out in a loud voice.
    “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye! This here trial is about to commence, the Honorable Jeremiah J. Briggs, presiding. Everybody stand respectful.”
    The Honorable Jeremiah J. Briggs came out of a back room. After taking his seat at the bench, he put on his glasses, fitting the earpieces very carefully over each ear, one at a time, then cleared his throat.
    “You may be seated,” he said.
    There was a rustle of clothing and the scrape of chairs as the gallery, large enough to overflow the courtroom, responded.
    Judge Briggs picked up a piece of paper and looked at it for a moment before speaking.
    “There comes now before this court defendant Bobby Lee Cabot, charged with murder, pursuant to the shooting death of August Fletcher on the night of August twenty-first in the current year. Is the defendant represented by counsel?”
    “Yes, Your Honor, I am counsel for the defense,” Reid answered.
    “Is the state represented by counsel?”
    “Yes, Your Honor,” Roswell answered.
    “Very well, we may proceed. Would the bailiff please bring the accused before the bench?”
    Sheriff Wallace, who was acting as bailiff for this trial, walked over to the table where Bobby Lee sat next to Jack Reid.
    “Get up, Cabot,” he growled. “Present yourself before the judge.”
    Bobby Lee was still handcuffed, and had shackles on his ankles. He shuffled up to stand in front of the judge. Reid went with him.
    “Bobby Lee Cabot, you stand accused of the crime of murder, specifically the murder of August Fletcher, Mr. Fletcher being at the time of his demise a messenger for the Nevada Central Railway Company. How do you plead?”
    “Not guilty, Your Honor,” Bobby Lee said, speaking the words loudly and distinctly so that everyone in the courtroom could hear him.
    “Prosecutor, make your case,” Judge Briggs said. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in the chair and watched as Roswell rose from his seat, then approached the jury.
    “Gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “You have been assembled here today to adjudicate the case of murder. It is a difficult duty, but a duty of great honor, for in it lies the entire underpinnings of our republic. You are exercising the rights and privileges