The Fugitive by John Grisham Page B

It’s just a muscle condition, nothing to do with the brain or anything.”
    â€œFainting goats?” Judge Yeck said.
    â€œYes, sir. They’re pretty well known in the goat world.”
    â€œWell, excuse me. So what’s your complaint about?”
    Mr. Tweel glared at Woody and Evan and continued: “Well, late Monday afternoon, I was in the house reading the newspaper when my wife sticks her head in the den and says there’s a commotion down at the goat shed. It’s about a hundred yards behind the house, so I head down there. As I get close, I hear somebody laughing. Somebody’s on my property, so I step into my toolshed and grab my twelve gauge. When I get closer to the goat shed, I see these two boys here messing with my goats. I watch ’em for a few minutes. One is on one end of the goat pen, and the other is leaning on a fence taking a video. One—and I can’t tell them apart—jumps out from behind a water trough, claps his hands real loud, yells at my goats as he lunges at them, then cracks up laughing when they faint. When the goats get up, they run away, and he chases them, yelling like an idiot until he corners a couple, lunges at them again, and howls when they go down.”
    Judge Yeck was amused. He looked at Theo and said, “So we have this on video?”
    Theo nodded. Yes.
    â€œHow many goats were in the pen?” Judge Yeck asked.
    â€œEleven.”
    â€œPlease continue.”
    â€œAnd then, and this is what really ticks me off, when things get real still, one of the boys lights a firecracker and tosses it at the goats. Bam! All eleven go down, stiff-legged, like they’re dead. At that point, the boys start running, but I’m right on them. They see my shotgun, and they decide their fun and games are over. They’re lucky I didn’t shoot them.”
    â€œDid the goats get up?” Judge Yeck asked.
    â€œYes, sir, they did, but here’s the bad part. About an hour after I get rid of the boys, after I get their names and address, I go back down to the goat pen to check on things. That’s when I saw that Becky was dead.”
    â€œWho’s Becky?”
    Mr. Tweel picked up two enlarged photos. He handed one to the judge and one to Theo. It was a fluffy white goat, lying on its side, either in the process of fainting, or in fact dead.
    â€œThat’s Becky,” Mr. Tweel said, his voice suddenly weaker. They looked at him and realized his eyes were moist.
    â€œHow old was Becky?” Judge Yeck asked.
    â€œShe was four, Judge. I was there when she was born. Probably the sweetest goat I’ve ever had.” He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. In an ever-weaker voice, he went on, “She was perfectly healthy. I kept her because she was a good breeder. Now she’s gone.”
    â€œAre you accusing Woody and Evan Lambert of killing your goat?” Judge Yeck asked.
    â€œShe was fine and dandy until they came along. I don’t make my goats faint. Some people do, I guess, for fun and sport. Not me. These boys scared ’em to death at first, then I think that firecracker really upset them. Yes, sir, I think these boys killed Becky.”
    â€œHow much was she worth?”
    â€œFour hundred dollars on the market, but to me she was worth more because she was such a good mare.” Mr. Tweel was regaining his composure.
    Judge Yeck paused for a long time, and finally said, “Anything else, Mr. Tweel?”
    He shook his head. No.
    â€œTheo.”
    Theo, who’d spent Wednesday night outlining his arguments and had thought of little else all day, began by stating the obvious. “Well, Judge, of course my clients were wrong to be there. It’s not their property. They were clearly trespassing and should be punished for that. But there was no intent to do anything wrong. Look, fainting goats are famous because they faint. Mr. Tweel just said that a lot of owners make their