Part 47 (1/2)

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 a.s.sisting 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: