The Pickled Dog Caper!

"Oyez! Oyez!" the court crier shouted. "The court will please come to order. The Honorable Silas Payne, presiding judge."

When Makepeace turned to look at the judge, the metal choker's rough edge nicked his neck. Blood droplets sprinkled his shirt. An omen, he thought --and not a gracious one.

The judge's countenance was long, withering, and sour as that of a baboon. Forlorn hope there, Makepeace figured.

Unmarked by the pox, Makepeace's face seldom failed to inspire confidence in his behavior. Scarcely twenty, he knew he was far too handsome for his own good. Times often were, he thought he could have done better with himself.

"Is the accused this good-looking rascal with the wavy black hair?" Judge Payne inquired.

"That's the ornery thief," the bailiff mumbled. He gave Makepeace's harness a wrench to make sure it was tight enough.

"We'd better move along with it," the judge declared. "Swear in the jury, bailiff. Give it your best effort. We have a number of distinguished citizens serving on our panel today."

The judge hammered his gavel on the mahogany bench. Makepeace pondered he could pound a spike nail into the top of the bar with fewer pains.

A kindly appearing aristocrat wearing a brown frockcoat trimmed in gray squirrel was selected to be the jury foreman. Makepeace reckoned the man owned a large plantation, tobacco in all probability. A rich planter would not extend a seed of mercy for him.

The judge spoke to the planter. "Morning, Solomon Seney. I hope you haven't made plans for dinner, because I thought I would take you to the Red Horse Inn for a plate of fish and a glass of wine."

Solomon Seney nodded pleasantly at the judge. The cruel fix was in. Makepeace had no doubt about it, a subtle if paltry bribe. Bring in the guilty plea, Mr. Foreman, and I'll take you to dinner.

"Stand up, prisoner, so you can give your name," the bailiff ordered in an inordinately loud voice.

Makepeace struggled to rise. When he put his hands on the stool to lift himself, it toppled beneath him. He joined it on the floor, his chains clanking like tin church bells. More than a few spectators snickered.

The bailiff strode over to Makepeace, grabbed his harness and yanked him to his feet, giving the chains another miserable rattle.

Judge Payne frowned. "You're a clumsy fool, young man."

"I'm sorry, yer honor," Makepeace said.

The bailiff shoved the chained prisoner back onto his stool and thrust a Bible in his face. "Put your hand on the Good Book and make your plea."

Makepeace placed his hand on the black tome and tried to look righteous, which he did not consider too difficult. By and large, virtue and good-looks were considered betrothed if not wedded. He poured out his oath at the top of his voice, even as he tried to convince himself it was true. "I swear by God that I am innocent of this crime."

Judge Payne rolled his large simian eyes at the ceiling, then turned to the prosecutor. "It's been ten days since this felony took place, Mr. Hammer. Such leniency is an encouragement to the criminal class."

Nor was Makepeace eager to postpone the proceedings, although he felt no encouragement by the delay. He hadn't slept well last night, nor the night before. His basement cell was cold and damp, the air musty and the dirt floor rank with crawling insects of debatable ancestry.

Little chance existed that he would doze off during the trial, the stiff metal collar chafing his neck as it did. At least he weren't hungry. The sheriff's wife was a tolerable good cook. If ye hadn't eaten for a day or two, her giblet pie would be worth getting arrested for.

From the prosecution's table, Elvin Hammer rose, scrawny and tall, his head like death's skull on a mop stick. "I apologize for the delay, Your Honor. The humidity affects my asthma worse than anything God laid on Job."

The judge offered not an ounce of compassion. "Well, be that as it may, Mr. Hammer. God has good reasons for what befalls His creatures."

And He's working overtime on my behalf, Makepeace reflected.

"Jarvis Adams will come forward," the bailiff announced.

The dapper merchant moved toward the witness box. A large man in a scarlet waistcoat embroidered with white stars, Adams looked like a fat red skyrocket all set to explode. Makepeace thought he would enjoy lighting the fuse.

Jarvis spoke as soon as he rose from the spectator's section and started for the bench. "Your Honor, this man don't look like no criminal, but he's full of the Old Ned."

Adams wiped his sleeve across his lips. He had a mouth resembling a sparrow. When he spoke, his head opened from ear to ear, like a chick eager for a worm.

"Jarvis, please take the oath before you tell your story," the judge ordered.

"This ain't no story, your honor," Adams whined. "I didn't come here to tell no lies. Bring me the Bible, bailiff."

Adams placed his fat hand on the book and swore to tell the whole truth and the truth only, so help him Almighty God. Well, they got God in their corner now, Makepeace thought.

"Jarvis, tell the court what the accused did," the prosecutor said.

"That's what I'm trying to do, if you don't mind. Just give me a chance."

"Start at the beginning," Hammer urged.

Adams frowned with obvious vexation. "Your Highness, I'll do just that, only don't interrupt me no more. I ain't used to making public speeches and you ain't no help. Mr. Makepeace took a ladder from me own barn and hoisted it up the side of me house. Him and Mr. Filmore climbed up it to get into me bedroom window. Me and the missus was sleeping peacefully in the arms of God until . . . there they was! Standing in me bedroom like two bloody actors on the bloody stage. Mr. Makepeace was clutching a lantern and waving his pistol at me."

With his right hand, Adams pointed his index finger at his temple and cocked his thumb. "He threatened to blow me brains away if I don't give him all me money!"

Enrapt, the jury waited for the click of the hammer on Adams' imaginary pistol. The courtroom was as quiet as a church full of Quakers waiting for a moving of the Spirit. Makepeace squirmed on his stool, thinking there wasn't a person in the room who didn't believe it could happen to him as easily as it happened to Adams.

Adams clacked his tongue. A communal gasp rose from the spectators.

"I started praying to God Almighty -- oh, how I prayed!" Adams wailed. "I begged dear God for a miracle."

"Oblige the court by telling us what happened next," Mr. Hammer said.

Adams pressed his legs together and bent his knees. "I'm ashamed to tell it, but I wet all over me nightshirt."

Makepeace's lawyer did not join the ensuing laughter. Sitting at the counsel table in his yellow satin suit, his waistcoat aloose to make room for his belly to take breaths without hindrance, he neither smiled nor frowned, although Makepeace heard a small hiccup. But what could he expect from that pettifogger? No help would come from the chap, leastwise not 'til the devil went blind. And Old Nick's eyes probably wasn't even sore.

The judge rapped his gavel handily.

"And pray tell, Mr. Adams, what quandary did your wife find herself in?" purred the old prosecutor.

"Filmore stuck his hand in the top of Hortense's nightgown and rubbed up against her. Me missus twisted and revolted against him so much, he shoved her to the floor."

"And what else?"

"Tied up me and her with hemp. I still got rope burns on me wrists."

"How much money did the thieves steal?"

"Oh your Lordship, I hadn't counted it for two or three days." Adams scratched at his neck. "More than I could afford to lose, what with the hungry mouths I got to feed -- several hundred pounds those rapscallions took."

Makepeace groaned under his breath. Adams was full of lies, no matter what he pledged on the Bible. The man had no more than thirty shillings in his house, coins that purchased him and Filmore a night at an inn and fed them for a couple of days. Then they were bankrupt again.

"Was there anyone else in your house when this cowardly deed occurred?" the prosecutor asked.

"Me five children, Your Honor," Adams said. "The little creatures slept right through it -- thank the Lord! -- no telling what those crooks would have done to those poor innocent babes."

"No one came to your assistance?"

"Me manservant William. He lives in the little house next door."

Little house all right. Makepeace had assumed it was the pump station for the well, that's how small it was.

"And what caused him to get up?" asked the prosecutor.

"Just give me a minute." Adams kneaded his groin. "William got up to look for his chamber pot. He's a old man what has to get up several times in the night. That's why he heard the noise. He seen these robbers going down me ladder as they was leaving."

"What did he do?"

"William stuck his head out the window and threatened them with the sheriff."

"Did that frighten them?"

Adams snorted. "Mr. Makepeace come back up the ladder and ordered me to shut William up or he'd knock me across the side of me head with his pistol."

Makepeace shook his head sadly -- but slowly, so that the collar would not nick him again. He'd done no such thing as Adams claimed. He had behaved like a gentleman robber. He had never behaved in any other manner. Several times in the past, he had apologized for taking valuables from his victims. He didn't suppose, however, that made him any less guilty. He just hoped that if his mother observed his behavior from some cloud in God's heaven, she wouldn't be too ashamed of him.

"Then what happened, Mr. Adams?" Hammer's words were trailed by his labored asthmatic breathing.

Adams continued his story. "Your Honor, William didn't pay those thieves no mind. Straight away went for his trusty musket. Fired out his window at them and loaded up and done it again."

"And pray tell, what--?"

"They fired right back."

Makepeace groaned again. Adams was kicking up his heels and the lies kept spitting out of his mouth. They hadn't a sniff of powder in their pistols. Too poor to afford any. If they'd had any money, they'd have bought victuals at Adams emporium and not bothered to rob him in the wee hours of the morning, their stomachs grumbling all the time.

"And after that?" coached the prosecutor.

"The robbers run off and William come and unfastened me and Hortense. Then he went and summoned the sheriff."

"And you offered a reward if the robbers were captured?" Mr. Hammer asked.

Adams puffed up like ripe bread dough. "I did that, Your Worship. Five precious pounds. Five pounds they didn't know I had when they robbed me because I hid it real good."

"Was the reward claimed?"

"Mr. Andrew Filmore come forward and claimed it. He said he knew about it because he was a -- uh -- friend of the accused. That was before he admitted to being his accomplice." Adams' sparrow mouth opened from ear to ear with what Makepeace assumed was a grin. "I didn't have to pay nothing once Filmore confessed to being guilty."

The prosecutor wheezed twice, cleared his throat and sauntered to the jury box. Placing his hands on the railing, he leaned forward. "Members of the jury, I would like to make you aware that Mr. Filmore was brought to trial last Thursday. He was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. Pending the outcome of these proceedings, he awaits his execution. If it please the Court, I will request his testimony."

It was the first time Makepeace had heard that the lickspittle Filmore had turned state's evidence. He intended to let the son of bitch know he didn't care for his disloyalty.

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