Raines's young barrister had for once put aside his unslaked and Welling passion for alibis and insanity, had forsworn gymnastics and fireworks, and worked soberly for his client. Mercifully the hot weather was yet young, and there had been no flagrant cases of barrack-shootings up to the time; and the jury was a good one, even for an Indian jury, where nine men out of every twelve are accustomed to weighing evidence. Ortheris stood firm and was not shaken by any cross-examination. The one weak point in his tale -the presence of his rifle in the outer verandah - went unchallenged by civilian wisdom, though some of the witnesses could not help smiling. The Government Advocate called for the rope; contending throughout that the murder had been a deliberate one. Time had passed, he argued, for that reflection which comes so naturally to a man whose honour is lost. There was also the Law, ever ready and anxious to right the wrongs of the common soldier if, in deed, wrong had been done. But he doubted much whether there had been any sufficient wrong. Causeless suspicion over-long brooded upon had led, by his theory, to deliberate crime. But his attempts to minimise the motive failed. The most disconnected witness knew -had known for weeks - the causes of offence, and the prisoner, who naturally was the last of all to know, groaned in the dock while he listened. The one question that the trial circled round was whether Raines had fired under sudden and blinding provocation given that very morning, and in the summing up it was clear that Ortheris's evidence told. He had contrived, most artistically, to suggest that he personally hated the Sergeant, who had come into the verandah to give him a talking to for insubordination. In a weak moment the Government Advocate asked one question too many, "Beggin' your pardon, sir," Ortheris replied, "'e was callin' me a dam' impudent little lawyer." The Court shook. The jury brought it in a killing, but with every provocation and extenuation known to God or man, and the Judge put his hand to his brow before giving sentence, and the Adam's apple in the prisoner's throat went up and down mercury-pumping before a cyclone.
In consideration of all considerations, from his Commanding Officer's certificate of good conduct to the sure loss of pension, service, and honour, the prisoner would get two years, to be served in India, and - there need be no demonstration in Court.
The Government Advocate scowled and picked up his papers; the guard wheeled with a clash, and the prisoner was relaxed to the Secular Arm, and driven to the jail in a broken-down ticca-gharri.
His guard and some ten or twelve military witnesses, being less important, were ordered to wait till what was officially called the cool of the evening before marching back to cantonments. They gathered together in one of the deep red brick verandahs of a disused lock-up and congratulated Ortheris, who bore his honours modestly. I sent my work into the office and joined them. Ortheris watched the Government Advocate driving off lunch.
"That's a nasty little bald-'eaded little butcher, that is," he said. "'E don't please me. 'E's got a colley dog wot do, though.
I'm goin' up to Murree in a week. That dawg'll bring fifteen rupees anywheres.""You had better spend it in Masses," said Terence, unbuckling his belt, for he had been on the prisoner's guard, standing helmeted and bolt up right for three long hours.
"Not me," said Ortheris cheerfully. "Gawd'll put it down to BComp'ny's barrick damages one o' these days. You look strapped, Terence.""Faith, I'm not so young as I was. That guard-mountin' wears on the sole av the fut, and this" - he sniffed contemptuously at the brick verandah - "is as hard setting as standin'!""Wait a minute. I'll get the cushions out of my cart," I said.
"Strewth - sofies! We're going it gay," said Ortheris, as Terence dropped himself section by section on the leather cushions, saying prettily, "May you niver want a soft place wheriver you go, an'
power to share utt wid a frind. Another for yourself? That's good.
It lets me sit long ways. Stanley, pass me a poipe. Augrrh! An'
that's another man gone all to pieces bekaze av a woman. I must ha' been on forty or fifty prisoners' gyards, first an' last, an'
I hate ut new ivry time."
"Let's see. You were on Losson's, Lancey's, Dugard's, and Stebbins's, that I can remember," I said.
"Ay, an' before that an' before that - scores av thim," he answered with a worn smile. "Tis betther to die than to live for thim, though. Whin Raines comes out - he'll be changin' his kit at the jail now - he'll think that too. He shud ha' shot himself an'
the woman by rights, an' made a clean bill av all. Now he's left the woman - she tuk tay wid Dinah Sunday gone last - an' he's left himself. Mackie's the lucky man."-
"He's probably getting it hot where he is," I ventured, for I knew something of the dead Corporal's record.
"Be sure av that," said Terence, spitting over the edge of the verandah. "But fwhat he'll get there is light marchin'-ordher to fwhat he'd ha' got here if he'd lived.""Surely not. He'd have gone on and forgotten like the others.""Did ye know Mackie well, Sorr?" said Terence.
"He was on the Pattiala guard of honour last winter, and I went out shooting with him in an ekka for the day, and I found him rather an amusing man.""Well, he'll ha' got shut av amusemints, excipt turnin' from wan side to the other, these few years come. I knew Mackie, an' I've seen too many to be mistuk in the muster av wan man. He might ha'
gone on an' forgot, as you say, Sorr, but was a man wid an educashin, an' he used ut for his schames, an' the same educashin, an' talk an' all that made him able to do fwhat he had a mind to wid a woman, that same wud turn back again in the long run an'
tear him alive. I can't say fwhat that I mane to say bekaze Idon't know how, but Mackie was the spit an' livin' image av a man that I saw march the same march all but; an' 'twas worse for him that he did not come by Mackie's ind. Wait while I remimber now.
