“Yeah. An apple pie.”
“Had Mrs. McDonald actually started baking it?”
“Yeah, ’cause we could all smell it.”
“What time was that, Mr. Kelly?”
“Oh, I’d say it was about eleven o’clock. Maybe even a little closer on toward noon.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions of this witness.” The prosecutor turned toward the bench. “Your Honor, prosecution would like to recall Pastor Martin to the stand.”
Pastor Martin, the resident pastor of the First Methodist Church of Green River City, Wyoming, who had, earlier, testified for the prosecution, retook the stand. He was a tall, thin man, dressed in black, with a black string tie.
“The court reminds the witness that he is still under oath,” the judge said. Then to Gleason he said, “You may begin the redirect.”
“Pastor Martin, you discovered the bodies, did you not?” Gleason asked.
“I did.”
“What time did you arrive?
“It was just after noon. We didn’t want to arrive right at noon, because Mrs. McDonald, kind-hearted soul she was, would have thought she had to feed us.”
“You testified earlier that you and four other parishioners had gone to thank the McDonalds for their generous donation to the organ fund?”
“Yes.”
“And that all five of you saw the bodies?”
Pastor Martin pinched the bridge of his nose and was quiet for a moment before he responded. “May their souls rest with God,” he said. “Yes, all five of us saw the bodies.”
“You have already testified as to the condition of the bodies when you found them, so I won’t have you go through all that again. But I am going to ask you a simple question. You just heard the witness testify that Mrs. McDonald was baking a pie when they left, just before noon. Did you see any evidence of that pie?”
Pastor Martin shook his head. “There was no pie,” he said. “In fact, the oven had not been used that day. It was cold, and there were no coals.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
“Witness may step down,” the judge said.
In his closing argument to the jury, the defense attorney suggested that the letters BAK were not, in themselves, conclusive.
“They could have referred to Mrs. McDonald’s intention to bake an apple pie. After all, the letters b-a-k, are the first three letters of the word bake. Perhaps it was a warning that the oven needed to be checked, lest there be a fire,” he said. “Don’t forget, we have a witness who testified that the Bakers left the McDonald Ranch with him on the very day the McDonalds were killed. And, according to Mr. Kelly, the McDonalds were still alive at that time they left. The burden of proof is on the prosecution. That means that, according to the law, in order to find Harry and Arnold Baker guilty you are going to have to be convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they did it. Prosecution has offered no evidence or testimony that would take this case beyond the shadow of a doubt.”
During Gleason’s closing, he pointed out that Kelly was not a very reliable witness, whereas the two witnesses who had seen the Baker brothers at the ranch on the morning of the murder were known citizens of good character. He also reminded the jury that the witness said that the donation had come directly from a cash box and that Arnold Baker had commented on the money.
“Mr. Pratt said he believed there was at least three hundred dollars left in the box, and maybe a little more. An affidavit from the bartender in Burnt Fork says that the two men spent lavishly while they were in the saloon, and Matt Jensen, acting as a duly sworn deputy, found two hundred sixty-eight dollars on them when he made the arrest.”
In addition, the prosecuting attorney pointed out that, according to Pastor Martin, whose testimony was also unimpeachable, that there was no evidence of any apple pie having been baked, which cast further doubt on Kelly’s story.
“With his own blood, as he lay dying, Scott McDonald scrawled the letters, BAK. BAK for Baker. He hardly had time to actually leave us a note, so he did what he could to see to it that those who murdered him, and his family, would pay for their act. We owe it to this good man to make certain that his heroic action is rewarded by returning a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree for Harry and Arnold Baker.”
Less than one hour after the court had been called to order, the jury returned from their five minute deliberation.
“Gentleman of the jury, have you selected a foreman and have you reached a verdict?” Judge Norton asked.
“We have, Your Honor. I am the foreman,” a tall, gray-haired man said.
“Would you publish the verdict, please?”
“We find the defendants, Harry and Arnold Baker, guilty of murder in the first degree.”
There was an outbreak of applause from those in the gallery, but Judge Norton used his gavel to restore order. “I will not have any demonstrations in my court,” he said sternly. The judge looked around the court room. “Bailiff, where is the witness, Jerome Kelly?”
“He’s not present, Your Honor.”
“Sheriff Foley?”
“Yes, Your Honor?” the sheriff said, standing.
“I’m putting out a bench warrant on Jerome Kelly for giving false testimony. Please find him, and take him into custody.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Now, Bailiff, if you would, bring the convicted before the bench.”
The two men were brought to stand before the judge.
“Harry Baker and Arnold Baker, I have presided over thousands of cases in my twenty-six years on the bench. But never in my career, have I encountered anyone with less redemptive tissue than the two of you. Your crime in murdering an entire family, a family that had taken you into their bosom, is particularly heinous.
“You have been tried and found guilty by a jury of your peers. Therefore, it is my sentence that, one week hence, the sheriff of Sweetwater County will lead the two of you to the gallows at ten of the clock in the morning. Once upon the gallows, ropes will be placed around your necks, all support will be withdrawn from under your feet, and you shall be dropped a distance sufficient to break your necks. And there, Harry Baker and Arnold Baker, you shall continue to hang until it is obvious that all life has left your miserable bodies. May God have mercy on your souls, for I have none.”
Chapter Three
One week later
The gallows stood in the middle of Center Street, well constructed but terrible in the gruesomeness of its function. A professionally painted sign was placed on an easel in front of the gallows.
On
