The Fugitive by John Grisham Page A

had been married at least twice and her current husband traveled a lot. Woody’s father was a stonemason who lived in town with another wife and some small children. An older brother had been in trouble with the law. He asked, “If you go to Animal Court, do you have to tell your parents?”
    â€œNot always,” Theo said. He almost added that it’s always best to tell your parents, but then he often kept secrets from his. “What’s happened?”
    â€œHave you ever heard of fainting goats?”
    â€œFainting goats?”
    â€œYes. Fainting goats.”
    â€œNo. I’ve never heard of fainting goats.”
    â€œWell, it’s a long story.”
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    The following afternoon, Theo was sitting next to Woody and Evan in a small, cramped room in the basement of the Strattenburg County Courthouse, waiting for Judge Sergio Yeck to assume the bench and call things to order. They were in folding chairs behind a folding table, and behind them were several other people, including Chase, Aaron, and Brandon, all there out of curiosity. Across the aisle sat an angry man named Marvin Tweel. He was a farmer dressed in his work clothes—faded denim overalls, plaid shirt, and steel-toed boots with mud caked permanently on the soles and heels. Behind him were several people, part of the usual Animal Court crowd of folks trying to rescue unleashed dogs that had been picked up by the town’s rather aggressive dogcatcher.
    At four p.m., Judge Yeck walked through a rear door and took his seat at the bench. As always, he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and an old sports coat. As usual, he seemed bored with what he was doing. He was the lowest-ranking judge in town; in fact, he was the only lawyer who would handle the part-time job. Animal Court got little respect. Theo, though, loved it because there were few rules and no lawyers were required. Anyone, including a thirteen-year-old who thought he was a lawyer, could appear on behalf of a client.
    â€œHello, Theo,” Judge Yeck said. “How are your folks?”
    â€œThey’re doing fine, thanks, Judge.”
    Yeck looked at a sheet of paper and said, “All right, our first case is Mr. Marvin Tweel versus Woody and Evan Lambert.” He looked at the farmer and said, “Are you Mr. Tweel?”
    Mr. Tweel stood and said, “Yes, sir.”
    â€œWelcome to Animal Court, sir. You may keep your seat. Things are real informal in here.” Mr. Tweel nodded awkwardly and sat down. He was obviously nervous and out of place. Judge Yeck looked at Theo and said, “I take it you represent the Lambert brothers.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAll right. Mr. Tweel, you are the complaining party, so you go first.”
    Mr. Tweel said, “Well, uh, Your Honor, do I need a lawyer? If they got one, do I need one?”
    â€œNo, sir, not in this court. And Mr. Boone here is not a real lawyer, not yet anyway. He’s more like a legal adviser.”
    â€œDo I need a legal adviser like him?”
    â€œNo, sir, you certainly do not. Proceed with your story.”
    Satisfied and more at ease, Mr. Tweel began: “Well, Judge, you see I have a small farm just south of town, and I raise and sell a certain breed of goats that some people enjoy as pets. Others raise them for meat and cashmere. They’re not your typical goats. They’re much smaller and easier to care for. They’re called myotonic goats, on account of a muscle condition known as myotonia congenita. Now that’s about all I know when it comes to the science, but one aspect of this condition is that their muscles freeze when they panic and they get all stiff and frozen, then they fall over with their legs straight out. That’s why they are better known as fainting goats. They don’t really faint, they remain conscious, but they’re out of it for about ten seconds. Then they get up and everything’s okay.