She looked at Henry, then at Mrs. Eli. "I went to borrow some blankets,"
she confessed, in a voice so low that only a few heard her words.
"Was Watson at home?"
"Yes."
"Did you see him?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
At this point she became tearful, and the most that could be drawn from
her was a statement that Watson had refused to loan or sell her any
blankets. She denied that Busby was with her, and insisted that she was
alone till Carmody convinced her that she was only making matters worse
by such replies.
"Your visit was at night," he said. "You would never have walked in that
flour in the daytime, and you wouldn't have gone there alone in the
night. Busby wouldn't have permitted you to go to Watson's alone--he
knew Watson too well." The force of this remark was felt by nearly every
person in the room.
Hanscom said: "Mr. Coroner, this girl is trying to shield Busby, and I
want her confronted by him, and I want Eli Kitsong called."
By this time many admitted that they might have been mistaken in
accusing the Kauffmans of the deed.
Busby, a powerful young fellow, made a bad impression on the stand. His
face was both sullen and savage, and the expression of his eyes furtive.
He was plainly on guard even before Raines warned him to be careful.
"My name is Hart Busby," he said, in answer to Carmody. "I'm twenty-six
years old. I was born in the East. I've been here eight years." Here he
stopped, refusing to say where his parents lived or when he first met
Margarita. He flatly denied having had any serious trouble with Watson,
and declared that he had not seen him for almost a year.
"What were you doing in the Kauffmans' cabin?" demanded Hanscom. "You
won't deny my finding you there, will you?"
He told the same story that Rita had sworn to. "We were riding by and
saw that the place was deserted, and so we went in to look around."
"When did _you_ first hear of Watson's death?" asked Carmody.
The witness hesitated. A look of doubt, of evasion, in his eyes. "Why,
the ranger told us."
"Which of you owns that sorrel horse?" asked one of the jury.
Raines again interposed. "You needn't answer that," he warned. "That's
not before the court."
Carmody went on. "Now, Busby, you might as well tell us the truth. Henry
and Rita both state that Watson had refused to pay you, and that you had
a scrap and Watson kicked you off the place. Is that true?"
Raines rescued him. "You don't have to answer that," he said, and the
witness breathed an almost inaudible sigh of relief.
A violent altercation arose at this point between the coroner and the
lawyer. Carmody insisted on his right to ask any question he saw fit,
and Raines retorted that the witness had a right to refuse to
incriminate himself.
"You stick to your bread pills and vials," he said to the coroner, "and
don't assume a knowledge of the law. You become ridiculous when you do."
"I know my powers," retorted Carmody in high resentment, "and you keep a
civil tongue in your head or I'll fine you for contempt. I may not know
all the ins and outs of court procedure, but I'm going to see justice
done, and I'm going to see that you keep your place."
"You can't steam-roll me," roared Raines.
The argument became so hot that Throop was forced to interfere, and in
the excitement and confusion of the moment Busby mad a dash for the
door, and would have escaped had not Hanscom intercepted him. The room
was instantly in an uproar. Several of Busby's friends leaped to his
aid, and for a few minutes it seemed as if the coroner's court had
resolved itself into an arena for battling bears. Busby fought
desperately, and might have gained his freedom, after all, had not
Rawlins taken a hand.
At last Throop came into action. "Stop that!" he shouted, and fetched
Busby a blow that ended his struggles for the moment. "Let go of him,
Hanscom," he said. "I'll attend to him."
Hanscom and Rawlins fell back, and Throop, placing one huge paw on the
outlaw's shoulder, shoved the muzzle of a revolver against his neck.
"Now you calm right down, young man, and remember you're in court and
not in a barroom."
Raines, still unsubdued, shouted out, "You take your gun away from that
man, you big stiff!"
"_Silence!_" bellowed Carmody. "I'll have you removed if you utter
another word."
"I refuse to take orders from a pill-pusher like you."
"Sheriff, seat that man," commanded Carmody, white with wrath.
Throop, thrusting Busby back into his chair, advanced upon Raines with
ponderous menace. "Sit down, you old skunk."
"Don't you touch me!" snarled the lawyer.
"Out you go," said Throop, with a clutch at the defiant man's throat.
Raines reached under his coat-tails for a weapon, but Rawlins caught him
from behind, and Throop, throwing his arms around his shoulders in a
bearlike hug, carried him to his chair and forced him into it.
"Now will you be quiet?"
The whole room was silent now, silent as death, with a dozen men on
their feet with weapons in their hands, waiting to see if Raines would
rise.
Breaking this silence, Carmody, lifted by excitement to unusual
eloquence, cried out: "Gentlemen, I call upon you to witness that I am
in no way exceeding my authority. The dignity of this court must be
upheld." He turned to the jury, who were all on end and warlike. "I call
upon you to witness the insult which Mr. Raines has put on this court,
and unless he apologizes he will be ejected from the room."
Raines saw that he had gone too far, and with a wry face and
contemptuous tone of voice muttered an apology which was in spirit an
insult, but Carmody accepted the letter of it with a warning that he
would brook no further displays of temper.
When the coroner resumed his interrogation of Busby, whose sullen calm
had given place to a look of alarm and desperation, he refused to speak
one word in answer to questions, and at last Carmody, ordering him to
take a seat in the room, called Mrs. Eli Kitsong to the chair.
She was a thin, pale little woman with a nervous twitch on one side of
her face, and the excitement through which she had just passed rendered
her almost speechless; but she managed to tell the jury that Busby and
Watson had fought and that she had warned her son not to run with Hart
Busby.
"I knew he'd get him into trouble," she said. "I told Henry not to go
with him; but he went away with him in spite of all I could say."
"Did you actually _see_ the fight between Busby and Watson?"
"No, I only heard Ed tell about it."
"Did he say Busby threatened to kill him?"
"Yes, he did, but he laughed and said he was not afraid of a fool kid
like him."
Busby was deeply disturbed. He sat staring at the floor, moistening his
lips occasionally with the tip of his tongue as the coroner called one
after another of his neighbors to testify against him. The feeling that
Carmody was on the right track spread through the audience, but Abe
insisted that the Kauffmans be called to the stand, and to this Hanscom
added:
"I join in that demand. Call Miss McLaren. I want the ownership of these
shoes settled once and for all."
In the tone of one making a concession, Carmody said, "Very well. Mr.
Sheriff, take Busby out and ask Miss McLaren to step this way."
As the young ruffian was led out Rita sprang up as if to follow him, but
Carmody restrained her. "Stay where you are. I want you to confront Miss
McLaren."
A stir, a sigh of satisfaction, passed over the room, and every eye was
turned toward the door through which Helen must approach. Not one of all
the town-folk and few of the country-folk had ever seen her face or
heard her voice. To them she was a woman of mystery, and for the most
part a woman of dark repute, capable of any enormity. They believed that
she had been living a hermit life simply and only for the reason that
she had been driven out of the East by the authorities, and most of them
believed that the man she was living with was her paramour.
Every preconception of her was of this savage sort, and so when the
sheriff reappeared, ushering in a tall, composed, and handsome young
woman whose bearing, as well as her features, suggested education and
refinement, the audience stared in dumb amazement.
Hanscom and Rawlins both rose to their feet, and Carmody, moved by a
somewhat similar respect and admiration, followed their example. He went
further; he indicated, with a bow, the chair in which she was to sit,
while the jurors with open mouths followed her every movement. They
could not believe that this was the same woman they had examined at the
previous session of the court.
Hanscom, without considering her costume as designed to produce an
impression--he was too loyal for that--exulted in its perfectly obvious
effect on the spectators, and glowed with confidence over the outcome.
She looked taller, fairer, and younger in her graceful gown, and her
broad hat--which was in sharpest contrast to the sunbonnet which had so
long been her disguise--lent a girlish piquancy to her glance. Mrs.
Brinkley expressed in one short phrase the change of sentiment which
swept almost instantly over the room. "Why, she's a _lady_!" she gasped.
Carmody, while not so sure the witness's costume was unpremeditated,
nevertheless acknowledged its power. He opened his examination with an
apology for thus troubling her a second time, and explained that new
witnesses and new evidence made it necessary.
She accepted his apology with grave dignity, and in answer to questions
by Raines admitted that Kauffman had told her of his clash with Watson
over some cattle.
"But he never threatened to shoot Watson. He is not quarrelsome. On the
contrary, he is very gentle and patient, and only resented Watson's
invasion of our home."
Upon being shown the shoes which Rita Cuneo had worn she sharply
answered:
"No, they are not mine. I could not wear them. They are much too small
for me."
This answer, though fully expected by Hanscom and the coroner, sent
another wave of excitement over the audience, and when Carmody said,
almost apologetically, "Miss McLaren, will you kindly try on these
shoes?" the women in the room rose from their seats in access of
interest, and loud cries of "Down in front!" arose from those behind
them.
Seemingly without embarrassment, yet with heightened color, Helen
removed one of her shoes--a plain low walking-shoe--and handed it to
Carmody, who received it with respectful care and handed it to the
foreman of the jury, asking him to make comparison of it with the
footprints.
The jurors, two by two, examined, measured, muttered, while the audience
waited in growing impatience for their report. Most of the onlookers
believed this to be a much more important test than it really was, and
when at last the foreman returned the shoe, saying, "This ain't the
shoe that made the tracks," the courtroom buzzed with pleased comment.
Raines was on his feet. "Mr. Coroner, we demand that the witness try on
that other pair of shoes. We are not convinced that she cannot wear
them."
Carmody yielded, and the room became very quiet as Helen, with
noticeable effort, wedged her foot into the shoe.
"I cannot put it on; it is too small," she said to Carmody, and Rita,
who sat near, bent a terrified gaze upon her.