Speaker 1: Justice in the Foothills by Clement White. Starr and Collins
were apathetic throughout their brief, dramatic trial. Following the jury's
verdict of first degree murder, their sullen demeanor became an
integral part of their being. They did not show a
motion when the sheriff and deputies prepared them for the
trip to the state's prison to await execution. Heavily manacled
Star's left wrist chained to Colin's right, they huddled in
the automobile ready for the journey to Mills Junction, where
the officers planned to take a through train to the penitentiary.
The weather matched the prisoner's mood. A drizzle dampened the
car and its occupants, while great fog banks shrouded the hills.
As the car nosed its way along the trail, the
mists gradually turned to rain. The sheriff was nervous, the
roads getting slippery. We'd best put on chains, he told
the deputy. I'd hate to skid over one of these cliffs.
It'd be a finish I reckon inspection of the tool
box showed the chains we're missing. We must have left
them in the garage, apologized the driver. The trail ahead
isn't any worse than the part we have come over.
It's as safe to go forward as to return. Go slow,
then replied the sheriff, I don't fancy this trip. I'd
forgotten how ornery this road is. The cars were from
side to side in spite of the driver's efforts. He
was slowing up for a steep descent. When the heavy
machine left the trail, it spun suddenly like a thing bewitched,
hurling its occupants over the side of the chasm while
it rolled over and over on its way to the
destruction in the bowlder studded bottom. The sheriff and deputies
followed the car to the canyon bottom, where Star and
Collins would have joined them. Only as they dropped over
the canyon wall, they passed on opposite sides of a
stunted cedar. The chain which bound them together held securely,
and they were suspended in the air, kicking desperately, almost
tearing the tree from its precarious roothold Star hooked a
toe over a jutting rock. Inch by inch, they worked
their way up to the canyon's rim and were back
on the trail when darkness fell Star was panting, but
was not nearly so winded as Collins. He set the
pace through the gloom, heading for the foothills to the north.
They reasoned that hours would pass before their escape was discovered. Moreover,
pursuing posses would be at a disadvantage among the trackless foothills.
The following night, they crowded a small stream at a
gravel bar and spied a dead lying on the bank.
Throwing themselves flat on their stomachs, they devoured it in
great bites, for with the exception of a rabbit which
a surprised bobcat had dropped, this was their first meal
since their escape. Because of the chain that linked them together,
they formed a close partnership. Neither could lie down, sit down,
or arise without the consent of the other. Bitterly they
cursed the lynks of steel, which turned their waking hours
into a series of mishaps. So far, posses had not
appeared on their trail. This was not strange, considering the
wide expanse of sparsely settled country which must be searched.
The fugitives were in little dread of men, but waking
or sleeping, they could not rid their minds of the
thought of avenging dogs. The anticipation of bloodhounds caused a
cold sweat to dampen Starr's clothes, while Collins gritted his
teeth and lunged forward with desperate steps. Both men knew
of the dogs, half bloodhound half mastiff, that were owned
by a wrencher near Mills Junction. It was the boast
of the county that these terrible dogs seldom lost a trail,
and when loosed unmuzzled, had been known to rend fugitives
limb from limb. Starr and Collins had one hope. Some
years ago, Starr had spent several weeks with a renegade
hermit who had a shack in the woods beyond the foothills.
If they could reach his shack, he would remove their manacles.
He might be dead, or he might have moved, but
the fugitives hoped against hope that he would be ready
to aid and hide them. The knights were cool in
the foothills, but the days were hot. Berries were abundant,
hanging dead ripe on countless bushes, providing food. When they
stopped to rest, they worked persistently at their manacles. If
they could sever the chain which bound them risks to wrist.
Their progress would be easier and safer. This much accomplished,
they might devise a way to remove the handcuffs. They
dragged the chain back and forth over flint rocks. They
worked and strained and pulled, but the stout lynx refused
to yield. After each trial, Star and Collins arose, cursing,
and continued their flight toward the north. Early one morning,
both men paused, simultaneously, holding their breath while they listened.
From the south floated a faint echo, which froze the
blood in their veins. Again, the sound echoed. It was
the baying of a hound. The baying increased in loudness
as the pursuit grew easier. Star and Collins crashed through
the brush to a small rock pile, Gasping and moaning.
They dragged their weary bodies to the top of the
rocks and saw the hounds lope through the brush into
an open space. The great dogs were unmuzzled as the
fugitives cringed before the attack. The triumphant baying of the
hounds gave place to a plaintive whimper. The great dogs
paused in their tracks, the hair bristling on their backs
while their tails sank between their legs. Their brute instinct
had warned them of apparel which tearing fangs would not
guard against. A wolf had emerged from the brush to
the north of Star and Collins, and its bared fangs
and feted slaver streaming from its jaw. The eye staring
balefully and the dull upstanding hair showed that the wolf
was mad. The dogs fled from its approach, but the
men were in the path of the frenzied animal. They
tried to leap away from the dripping jaws, which slashed them,
but were bitten in several places before a kick disabled
the animal. Hope fled from the hearts of the fugitives.
As they examined their wounds, they were haunted with the
specter of approaching madness. They cursed and fought and strained
on the chain until their wrists were torn and bleeding.
They rolled on the ground and wept, then arose and
continued their efforts with the chain. The presence of each
became decidedly objectionable to the other. Who would be the
first victim of rabies? This question drove them to frenzied,
pulling and straining. The thought upmost in the mind of
each was a consuming desire to become separate from his companion.
They fought the chain at intervals through the night, then
continued their desperate journey. The morning sun stole over the
brooding hills. Wild animals feasted, gamboled, and basted in the
golden sunshine. A fissure emerged from a pool with a
fish in its mouth, saw the fugitives, then fled. Grouse
went about their affairs undisturbed, and a great eagle sailed
in a wide circle through the azure air. Peace rested
over wild things, but in the hearts of the two
men raged an inferno. They knew they were to die,
and in a measure they comprehended the manner of their death.
As they paused to eat berries, they eyed each other sharply,
kneeling by the bush, scratching their faces with brambles as
they devoured the watery food. Berries sustained life, but did
not strengthen them. Their bodies gradually weakened, but this weakness
did not lessen the feverish vigor of their minds. Each
knew what the other was thinking. The one who showed
the first symptoms of rabies would be killed, if possible
by his companion. One afternoon, they trudged through a thicket
and approached a bubbling brook. Ours had elapsed since our
last drink, and Star sank to the ground, eagerly gulping
the water. His thirst quenched. He glanced at Collins, then
his body stiffened. Collins was not drinking. His eyes had
become dull and fixed. A shiver shook his form. As
they regained their feet, the shaking spells recurred, his spasms
became more intense. Suddenly he gave gave an unearthly shriek
and bared his teeth at Star, who leaped aside in fright,
swinging Collins around and around. His fright aided strength to
his muscles. Panting and exhausted, they crouched on the ground,
glaring and whimpering. Another spasm shook Collins as they crossed
the ridge. He tried to bite and tear Star's arm,
Remembering a fighting trick he had learned in the lumber camps,
Star lunged with his left knee extended, striking Collins in
the stomach. They fell to the ground, Collins, made temporarily
helpless from the blow, Star again drove his knees into
the madman's abdomen. Collins raised his head and Starr dashed
his own head against it, the impact driving Colin's head
against a sharp stone and rendering him unconscious. A new
difficulty arose, for Star could not free himself from the
helpless body. Its weight hindered his progress as he moved
from bush to bush, greedily devouring berries. When he lay
down to rest, the madman was beside him. He dare
not fall asleep, while expecting his companion's return to consciousness
the next day, The increasing horror of his predicament caused
him to grow hysterical. He called for help and listened
in terror to the lonesome echoes. Toward evening, he saw
that Collins was dying. The approaching darkness caused him to
stumble and fight through a bush, dragging the burden alongside him.
He came to a rusted spur of track, abandoned since
the lumber mills at Rafter had closed. The sight of
the rusty rails and the warmth of the rising sun
served to clear his mind. He remembered that the hermit
Shack was north of this track. As he stumbled along,
making slow headway, he felt a change creeping over him.
He was near a brook and passed a pool of
water and recoiled in fright from its limpid coolness. Spasms
shook him, and he looked for something to rend and tear.
During lucid intervals between spasms, he struggled grimly through the bush.
Each attack was leaving him weaker. When evening came, he
looked upon imaginary sights, which added to his desperation. His
mad brain showed foul vampires flapping through the air about him,
throwing water from their wings and from each side. Hideous
imps called his name, extending vessels of water and inviting
him to drink. He sought to slay them, but they
recoiled with demonic grins, only to renew their torments. He thought.
Colin arose, gazed at him with cadaverous eyes, and asked
him to hurry to a pool where they could drink
and splash and swim with bared teeth. Star showed his
displeasure at such an invitation. He was panting now, and
darkness had fallen. His tormentors still offered him water, but
between spasms he made slow progress until a light appeared
in the darkness. Gradually, the vague outlines of a cabin
showed close at hand, Star was more normal. He cried
with joy at the thought of his relief when the
hermit had severed the chains which bound him. Once free,
he would smite his tormentors. He reached the window through
which the light streamed, thrust his head through the opening,
and groaned. The hermit was cleaning a pistol, which he
dropped in fright. As Stars groan reached his ears, he
saw the face in the window, the lips spread in
an awful grimace, showing blood stained teeth, and the sunken,
discolored cheeks and staring, glazing eyes a specter. The hermit screamed.
His hand reached behind him and grasped a rifle, which
flew to his shoulder. As the apparition strove to speak,
The rifle rang, and Star lay down to rest, as
though soothed by the echoes reverberating among the hills. The
End of Justice in the Foothills by Clement White