emained in gaol for more
than seven months longer, on account of the difficulty of securing
the attendance of witnesses from New South Wales.

But when the evidence was given it was overwhelming. Every man who
had known Baldy seemed to have been kept alive on purpose to give
evidence against the murderer. Every scrap of clothing which the
wild cats had left was identified, together with the knife, the pipe,
the hat brim, and the boots; and the prisoner's own confession was
repeated. Julia also took the side of the prosecution. When asked
if she had any questions to put, she said, "My husband killed the
man, and forced me to help him to put the body on his horse."

The jury retired to consider their verdict, and spent two hours over
it. In the meantime the two prisoners sat in the dock as far apart
as possible. They had never spoken to each other during the trial,
and Nosey now said in a low voice:

"You had no call, Julia, to turn on me the way you did. What good
could it do you? Sure you might at least have said nothing against
me."

The pent-up bitterness of seventeen years burst forth. The constable
standing near tried to stop the torrent, but he might as well have
tried to turn back a south-east gale with a feather.

"I was to say nothing, indeed, was I? And what call had I to say
nothing? Is that what you ask? Was I to stand here all day and say
never a word for myself until they were ready to hang me? Tell me
now, did I murder poor Baldy or did you? Was it not you who struck
him down with the axe without saying as much as 'by your leave,'
either to me or to him? Did you say a word to me until you finished
your bloody work? And then you threatened to cut me down, too, with
the axe, if I didn't hold my tongue, and help you to lift the man on
to your horse. It is this day you should have remembered before you
began that night's work. Sorrow's the day I ever met you at all,
with the miserable life you led me; and you know I was always the
good wife to you until you gave yourself entirely to the devil with
your wicked ways. Wasn't I always on the watch for you every evening
looking for you, and the chop on the fire, and the hot tea, and
everything comfortable? And is it to hang me now you want to pay me
back for the trouble I took for you and all the misery I suffered
these long years? And the death of my poor father, who found me in
gaol, is at your door too, for he would have been alive and