skeletons by Glendon Swarthout Read Free Book Online

would be 1910, the year this courthouse was built. My father was county attorney then. He prosecuted and lost, much to everyone’s astonishment. But it was not a mortal blow—he was later elected district judge and held the bench for thirty years. I succeeded him. And the other?”
    “The four Villistas.”
    “Yes. Six years later. Tyler has been obsessed with that since she was a girl—I presume because of his disappearance.”
    ‘Whose?”
    “Wood’s. On the night the trial ended in acquittal—again to everyone’s astonishment, if not outrage. Wood vanished without a trace. It was all very mysterious, I must say, and particularly appealing to a child.”
    My story instinct began to itch. “Maybe he went south of the border with the bandidos.”
    The judge permitted himself a smile. “Not very likely.”
    “What did happen to them?”
    “All I can provide is local legend. Conviction and hanging might have been a happier fate for them. As town tradition has it, they lost a ‘Texas horse race.’”
    “Tyler mentioned that. What is it?”
    “I’m not familiar with the details, but as I understand it, they were let go, given an hour’s head start, and advised that if they could reach the border—it’s thirteen miles—before being caught, they were free men. This was on foot. But half an hour later, a posse gave chase. Mounted.”
    He shook his head. “Most regrettable. Barbarous.” He looked at me. “But as I say, all I pass on to you is hearsay. I don’t really know, and my father, who prosecuted that one, too, and unsuccessfully, never spoke of it to me. Probably for good reason.” He rose. The interview was over. “Why are you interested in the trials, Mr. Butters?”
    “Tyler told me to be.”
    “Why was Sansom?”
    “She told him, too. He thought there might be a novel in it, a big seller.”
    “Do you?”
    “I write for children.” I stood. “Thank you, Judge. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. You don’t mind, then, if I have a look at the transcripts?”
    “Not at all.”
    “I assume Sansom did.”
    “I presume so.”
    “And I’d like to chat with Mrs. Vaught—will she be at home this afternoon?”
    “Helen lives in San Carlos.”
    “San Carlos?”
    “North of here. Her address is 2100 Tamarisk Drive–can you remember that?”
    “2100 Tamarisk Drive. But wait a minute, I—”
    “Mrs. Vaught and I have been separated for many years.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry.” I think I blushed.
    “Mr. Butters.” He came round the corner of his desk, stopped. “I don’t know what you will learn about Sansom’s death, and don’t, I am bound to say, particularly care. I found him a most disagreeable and repellent individual. I can’t conceive of any woman of character, my daughter aside, entering into an intimate relationship with him. But that is neither here nor there.”
    He settled back on his heels. “The point I’m trying to make is that whatever you discover in connection with the trials, I hope you will not exploit. I see no purpose in exhuming from the past what may have been a very ugly episode in Harding’s earlier history. I see no valid reason why the sins of one generation—if sins they were—should be inflicted on the next. It can only pain and injure the descendants of those originally involved. I suppose every small town has a skeleton or two in its closet—why not keep the door closed and locked? What benefit can ensue from opening it? Don’t you agree?”
    He was fervid. I was embarrassed. It was as though he had risen from behind the bench, parted his black robe, exposed himself.
    “Yes, sir,” I said.
    “If I were you,” he continued, ‘I’d chalk the matter up to Tyler’s imagination and forget it. Don’t you think that the wisest, most humane course?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. I wanted to be out of his chamber, I had things to ponder. “Well, goodbye, sir.”
    “Goodbye.”
    I turned to go.
    “Mr. Butters.”
    I turned back, seemed to see him