He admitted to the judge that he had been broken by grief, that he had neglected his duties, but that he had never threatened Silas Crane with anything but the truth. I am a man who made mistakes, your honor, Eli said. But I am not a criminal. And this woman, this woman is the bravest soul I have ever known. If you want justice, look at her scars.
Judge Blackwood leaned back in his chair. He lit a pipe, the smoke curling around his gray whiskers. I have heard of Mr. Crane, the judge said. His reach is long, but the arm of the federal government is longer.
He stood up. I will impanel a grand jury and I will ride back to Bitter Creek with you. I believe it is time we brought some law to that valley. The return to Bitter Creek was a procession of judgment. Judge Blackwood brought three federal marshals, hard-eyed men with badges that shone dull silver in the sun.
They arrived on a Sunday. The church bell was ringing. The hearing was held in the sanctuary, the only room big enough to hold the town. The pews were packed. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and fear.
Silas Crane sat in the front row, his face a mask of polite confusion, though his eyes darted nervously to the marshals standing by the doors. Eli and Maggie sat at a small table near the altar. The cross on the wall hung above them. The same cross that had witnessed their silent, lonely wedding. Judge Blackwood took the pulpit.
He did not need a gavel. His voice was command enough. This court is in session. He boomed. We are here to investigate charges of corruption, arson, and attempted murder.
The testimony was a dam breaking. First came the peddler, Jeremiah, who testified he had seen Cobb and Lefty riding south on Crane's orders. Then came the widow, Svenson. She walked up the aisle, her hands twisting her apron. She refused to look at Silus.
He told my husband to sell, she whispered. He said, "If we didn't, the land would burn us out. " Two days later, the barn went up. Silas stood up, his face red. This is hearsay. This is a conspiracy of failures blaming a successful man for their own incompetence.
Sit down, Mr. Crane, the judge ordered. Or I will have you shackled. Then came the final blow. It was Shorty, the ranch hand, who had mocked Maggie in the barn.
He stood up from the back pew, twisting his hat in his hands. "I saw the stampede," Shorty said, his voice shaking. "I was riding fence on the north ridge. I saw Crane's foreman, Lefty, drop the torch on the porch. And I saw him fire the shots that spooked the herd. " A gasp went through the room.