at noon,
benevolent and smiling, he was on guard again.

The little Court Room was crowded for the afternoon session. Inside the
railing sat Rufe Tolliver, white and defiant--manacled. Leaning on the
railing, to one side, was the Red Fox with his big pistols, his good
profile calm, dreamy, kind--to the other, similarly armed, was Hale.
At each of the gaping port-holes, and on each side of the door, stood
a guard with a Winchester, and around the railing outside were several
more. In spite of window and port-hole the air was close and heavy with
the smell of tobacco and the sweat of men. Here and there in the crowd
was a red Falin, but not a Tolliver was in sight, and Rufe Tolliver sat
alone. The clerk called the Court to order after the fashion since the
days before Edward the Confessor--except that he asked God to save a
commonwealth instead of a king--and the prosecuting attorney rose:

"Next witness, may it please your Honour": and as the clerk got to
his feet with a slip of paper in his hand and bawled out a name, Hale
wheeled with a thumping heart. The crowd vibrated, turned heads, gave
way, and through the human aisle walked June Tolliver with the sheriff
following meekly behind. At the railing-gate she stopped, head uplifted,
face pale and indignant; and her eyes swept past Hale as if he were
no more than a wooden image, and were fixed with proud inquiry on the
Judge's face. She was bare-headed, her bronze hair was drawn low over
her white brow, her gown was of purple home-spun, and her right hand was
clenched tight about the chased silver handle of a riding whip, and
in eyes, mouth, and in every line of her tense figure was the mute
question: "Why have you brought _me_ here?"

[Illustration: "Why have you brought me here?", 0342]

"Here, please," said the Judge gently, as though he were about to answer
that question, and as she passed Hale she seemed to swerve her skirts
aside that they might not touch him.

"Swear her."

June lifted her right hand, put her lips to the soiled, old, black Bible
and faced the jury and Hale and Bad Rufe Tolliver whose black eyes never
left her face.

"What is your name?" asked a deep voice that struck her ears as
familiar, and before she answered she swiftly recalled that she had
heard that voice speaking when she entered the door.

"June Tolliver."

"Your age?"

"Eighteen."

"You live--"

"In Lonesome Cove."

"You are the daughter of--"

"Judd Tolliver."

"D