"No, I won't swear to it, but I think--"
Raines was savage. "Mr. Coroner, we don't want what the witness
_thinks_--we want what he _knows_."
"Tell us what you know," commanded Carmody.
"I know this," retorted Hanscom. "The man who fired that shot rode a
sorrel blaze-faced pony and was a crack gunman. To drop a running horse
at that distance is pretty tolerable shooting, and it ought to be easy
to prove who the gunner was. I've heard say Henry Kitsong--"
"I object!" shouted Raines, and Carmody sustained the objection.
"Passing now to your capture of the housebreakers," said he, "tell the
jury how you came to arrest the girl."
"Well, as I entered the cabin the girl Rita was sitting with her feet on
a stool, and the size and shape of her shoe soles appeared to me about
the size and shape of the tracks made in the flour, and I had just
started to take one of her shoes in order to compare it with the
drawings I carried in my pocket-book when Busby jumped me. I had to wear
him out before I could go on; but finally I made the comparison and
found that the soles of her shoes fitted the tracks exactly. Then I
decided to bring her down, too."
A stir of excited interest passed over the hall, but Raines checked it
by asking: "Did you compare the shoes with the actual tracks on the
porch floor?"
"No, only with the drawings I had made in my note-book."
Raines waved his hand contemptuously. "That proves nothing. We don't
know anything about those drawings."
"I do," retorted Carmody, "and so does the jury; but we can take that
matter up later. You can step down, Mr. Hanscom, and we'll hear James B.
Durgin."
Durgin, a bent, gray-bearded old rancher, took the stand and swore that
he had witnessed a hot wrangle between Kauffman and Watson, and that he
had heard the Dutchman say, "I'll get you for this!"
Hanscom, realizing that Durgin was Kitsong's chief new witness, was
quick to challenge his testimony, and finally forced him to admit that
Watson had also threatened Kauffman, so that the total effect of his
testimony was rather more helpful than harmful.
"Is it not a matter of common report, Mr. Coroner," demanded the ranger,
"that Watson has had many such quarrels? I am told that he had at least
one fierce row with Busby--"
"We'll come to that," interjected Carmody, as Durgin left the chair.
"Have you Rita's shoes, Mr. Sheriff?" Throop handed up a pair of women's
shoes, and Carmody continued: "You swear these are the shoes worn by
Margarita Cuneo when you took charge of her?"
"I do."
"Mr. Hanscom, will you examine these shoes and say whether they are the
ones worn by Rita Cuneo when you arrested her?"
Hanscom took them. "I think they are the same, but I cannot tell
positively without comparing them with my drawings."
The jury, deeply impressed by this new and unexpected evidence, minutely
examined the shoe soles and compared them with the drawings while the
audience waited in tense expectancy.
"They sure fit," said the spokesman of the jury.
Raines objected. "Even if they do _seem_ to fit, that is not conclusive.
We don't know _when_ the tracks were made. They may have been made after
the murder or before."
"Call Rita Cuneo," said Carmody to the sheriff.
The girl came to the stand, looking so scared, so pale, and so small
that some of the women, without realizing the importance of her
testimony, clicked their tongues in pity. "Dear, dear! How young she
is!" they exclaimed.
Carmody, by means of a few rapid questions gently expressed, drew out
her name, her age, and some part of her family history, and then, with
sudden change of manner, bluntly asked:
"How did you happen to be in that cabin with those two men?"
Pitifully at a loss, she finally stammered out an incoherent explanation
of how they were just riding by and saw the door standing open, and went
in, not meaning any harm. She denied knowing Watson, but admitted having
met him on the road several times, and hotly insisted that she had never
visited his house in her life.
"Where have you been living since leaving home?"
"In the hills."
"Where?"
"At the sawmill."
"How long had you been there when you heard of Watson's death?"
"About two weeks."
"Were you in camp?"
"No, we were staying in the old cabin by the creek."
"You mean Busby and Kitsong and yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, now, which one of these men did you leave home with--Busby or
Kitsong?"
Her head drooped, and while she wavered Raines interposed, arguing that
the question was not pertinent. But Carmody insisted, and soon developed
the fact that she was much more eager to defend Busby than Kitsong. She
denied that he had ever cursed Watson or threatened to do him harm, but
the coroner forced her to admit that Busby had told her of having had
trouble with the dead man, and then, thrusting a pair of shoes at her,
he sternly asked:
"Are these your shoes?"
"No, sir," she firmly declared.
Her answer surprised Hanscom and dazed the sheriff, who exclaimed
beneath his breath, "The little vixen!"
Carmody's tone sharpened: "Do you mean to tell me that these are not the
shoes you wore in town yesterday?"
"No, I don't mean that."
"What _do_ you mean?"
"I mean they're not my shoes. They belong to that Kauffman girl. I found
them in that cabin."