"You mean he would have been angry?"
"Yes."
The coroner suddenly turned the current of his inquiry. "Do you always
wear shoes such as you now have on?"
Every eye in the room was directed toward her feet, which were shod in
broad-toed, low-heeled shoes.
She was visibly embarrassed, but she answered, composedly: "I do--yes,
sir. In fact, I go barefoot a great deal while working in the garden.
The doctor ordered it, and, besides, the ordinary high-heeled shoes seem
foolish up here in the mountains."
"Will you be kind enough to remove your shoe? I would like to take some
measurements from it."
She flushed slightly, but bent quickly, untied the laces, and removed
her right shoe.
The coroner took it. "Please remain where you are, Miss McLaren." Then
to the jury, who appreciated fully the importance of the moment, "We
will now compare this shoe with the footprints."
"Don't be disturbed, miss," whispered the ranger. "I know the size and
shape of those footprints."
The sheriff cleared the way to the porch, where the little patch of
flour had been preserved by ropes stretched from post to post, and the
outside crowd, pressing closer, watched breathlessly while the jury bent
together and compared the shoes and the marks.
It required but a few moments' examination to demonstrate that the soles
of the accused woman's shoes were larger and broader and entirely
different in every way.
"She may have worn another shoe," Kitsong put in.
"Of course! We'll find that out," retorted the coroner.
As they returned to the room Hanscom said to the witness: "Now be very
careful what you reply. Take plenty of time before you answer. If you
are in doubt, say nothing."
In the sympathy of his glance her haughty pose relaxed and her eyes
softened. "You are very kind," she said.
"I don't know a thing about law," he added, apologetically, "but I may
be able to help you."
The coroner now told the jury that Mr. Hanscom, as representing the
witness at the hearing, would be allowed to ask any questions he pleased
before the end of the hearing.
"But I must insist upon taking measurements of your bare feet, Miss
McLaren."
The jury grinned and the girl flushed with anger, but at a word from the
ranger yielded and drew off her stocking.
Hanscom, while assisting the coroner in measurements, said, "I'm sorry,
miss, but it is necessary."
The examination proved that her bare foot was nearly two sizes wider and
at least one size longer than the footprints in the flour. Furthermore,
it needed but a glance for the jury, as well as the doctor, to prove
that she had been going barefoot, as she claimed, for many weeks. Her
foot was brown and her toes showed nothing of the close confinement of a
pointed shoe.
Carmody, returning to his seat, conferred with the jury, designating the
difference between the telltale marks on the porch and the feet of the
witness, and Hanscom argued that the woman who made the telltale tracks
must have been small.
"Miss McLaren could not possibly wear the shoe that left those marks in
the flour," he said.
"We are on the wrong trail, I guess," one of the jury frankly stated. "I
don't believe that girl was ever on the place. If she or the old man had
been guilty, they wouldn't have been hanging around home this morning.
They'd have dusted out last night."
And to this one other agreed. Four remained silent.
The ranger seized on these admissions. "There is nothing, absolutely
nothing, to connect the tracks in the flour with the person who did the
shooting. It may have been done by another visitor at another time."
"Well," decided the coroner, "it's getting dark and not much chance for
hotel accommodations up here, so I guess we'd better adjourn this
hearing." He turned to Helen. "That's all, Miss McLaren."
As Hanscom handed back her shoe he said: "I hope you won't worry another
minute about this business, miss. The jury is certain to report for
'persons unknown.'"
"I'm very grateful for your kindness," she answered, feelingly. "I felt
so utterly helpless when I came into the room."
"You've won even the jury's sympathy," he said.
Nevertheless, as she left the room, he followed closely, for the
Kitsongs, who had been denied admittance, were openly voicing their
dissatisfaction with the coroner's verdict. "She ought to be held, and
the old man ought to be held," they insisted.
"One or the other of them shot Watson," declared Abe to Carmody. "No
matter if the girl's foot doesn't just exactly fit the tracks. She could
jam her foot into a narrow shoe if she tried, couldn't she? If you let
that girl pull the wool over your eyes like that you ain't fit to be
coroner."
Carmody's answer was to the point. "The thing for your crowd to do is to
quit chewing the rag and get this body down the valley and decently
buried. I can't stand around here all night listening to amateur
attorneys for the prosecution."
"Vamose!" called the sheriff, and in ten minutes the crowd was
clattering down the trail in haste to reach food and shelter, leaving
the Kauffmans to take their homeward way alone.
Hanscom helped the girl into the wagon and rode away up the valley close
behind her, his mind filled with the singular story which she had so
briefly yet powerfully suggested. That she was a lady masquerading in
rough clothing was evident even before she spoke, and the picture she
made, sitting in the midst of that throng of rough men and slatternly
women, had profoundly stirred his imagination. He longed to know more of
her history, and it was the hope of still further serving her which led
him to ride up alongside the cart and say:
"Here's where my trail forks, but I shall be very glad to go up and camp
down at your gate if you feel at all nervous about staying alone."
Kauffman, who had regained his composure, answered, "We have no fear,
but we are deeply grateful for your offer."
The ranger dismounted and approached the wagon, as if to bring himself
within reach, and the girl, looking down at him from her seat with
penetrating glance, said:
"Yes, we are greatly indebted to you."
"If I can be of any further help at any time," the young forester said,
a little hesitatingly, "I hope you will let me know." His voice so
sincere, his manner so unassuming, softened her strained mood.
"You are very kind," she answered, with gentle dignity. "But the worst
of this trial is over for us. I cannot conceive that any one will
trouble us further. But it is good to know that we have in you a friend.
The valley has always resented us."
He was not yet satisfied. "I wish you'd let me drop around to-morrow or
next day and see how you all are. It would make me feel a whole lot
better."
The glance which she gave him puzzled and, at the moment, daunted him.
She seemed to search his soul, as if in fear of finding something
unworthy there. At last she gave him her strong, brown hand.
"Come when you can. We shall always be glad to see you."