Part 60 (1/2)

Carmody decided to call young Kitsong, and Throop led Rita away and soon returned with Henry, who came into the room looking like a trapped fox, bewildered yet alert. He was rumpled and dirty, like one called from sleep in a corral, but his face appealed to the heart of his mother, who flung herself toward him with a piteous word of appeal, eager to let him know that she was present and faithful.

The sheriff stopped her, and her husband--whose parental love was much less vital--called upon her not to make a fool of herself.

The boy gave his name and age, and stated his relations.h.i.+p to the dead man, but declared he had not seen him for months. ”I didn't know he was dead till the ranger told me,” he said. He denied that he had had any trouble with Watson. ”He is my uncle,” he added.

”I've known relatives to fight,” commented the coroner, with dry intonation, and several in the audience laughed, for it was well known to them that the witness was at outs not only with his uncle, but with his father.

”Now, Henry,” said the coroner, severely, ”we know this girl, Rita, made a night visit to Watson's cabin. We have absolute proof of it. She did not go there alone. Who was with her? Did you accompany her on this trip?”

”_No_, sir.”

”She never made that trip alone. Some man was with her. If not you, it must have been Busby.”

A sullen look came into the boy's face. ”Well, it wasn't me--I know that.”

”Was it Busby?”

He paused for a long time, debating what the effect of his answer would be. ”He may of. I can't say.”

Carmody restated his proof that Rita had been there and said: ”One or the other of you went. Now which was it?”

The witness writhed like a tortured animal, and at last said, ”He did,”

and Mrs. Eli sighed with relief.

Carmody drew from him the fact that Watson owed Busby money, and that he had vainly tried to collect it. He would not say that Rita left camp with Busby, but his keen anxiety to protect her was evident to every one in the room. He admitted that he expected Busby to have trouble with Watson.

Mrs. Kitsong, who saw with growing anxiety the drift of the coroner's questioning, called out: ”Tell him the truth, Henry; the whole truth!”

Raines silenced her savagely, and Carmody said: ”So Busby had tried to collect that money before, had he?”

”Tell him 'yes,' Henry,” shouted Eli, who was now quite as eager to s.h.i.+eld his son as he had been to convict Helen.

Carmody warned him to be quiet. ”You'll have a chance very soon to testify on this very point,” he said, and repeated his question: ”Busby had had a fight with Watson, hadn't he--a regular knockdown row?”

Henry, sweating with fear, now confessed that Busby had returned from Watson's place furious with anger, and this testimony gave an entirely new direction to the suspicions of the jurors, several of whom knew Busby as a tough customer.

Dismissing Henry for the moment, Carmody recalled Margarita. ”You swear you never visited Watson's cabin?” he began. ”Well, suppose that I were to tell you that we know you did, would you still deny it?” She looked at him in scared silence, trying to measure the force of his question, while he went on: ”You mounted the front steps and went down the porch to the right, pausing to peer into the window. You kept on to the east end of the porch, where you dropped to the ground, and continued on around to the back door. Do you deny that?”

Amazed by the accuracy of his information and awed by his tone, the girl struggled for an answer, while the audience waited as at a crisis in a powerful play.

Then the coroner snapped out, ”Well, what were you doing there?”

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?”