went upon the stand. She knew he
disliked St. Vincent, but could not imagine any evidence he could
possess which would bear upon the case.

Being sworn, and age and nationality ascertained, Bill Brown asked him
his business.

"Pocket-miner," he challenged back, sweeping the assemblage with an
aggressive glance.

Now, it happens that a very small class of men follow pocketing, and
that a very large class of men, miners, too, disbelieve utterly in any
such method or obtaining gold.

"Pocket-miner!" sneered a red-shirted, patriarchal-looking man, a man
who had washed his first pan in the Californian diggings in the early
fifties.

"Yep," Del affirmed.

"Now, look here, young feller," his interlocutor continued, "d'ye mean
to tell me you ever struck it in such-fangled way?"

"Yep."

"Don't believe it," with a contemptuous shrug.

Del swallowed fast and raised his head with a jerk. "Mr. Chairman, I
rise to make a statement. I won't interfere with the dignity of the
court, but I just wish to simply and distinctly state that after the
meeting's over I'm going to punch the head of every man that gets gay.
Understand?"

"You're out of order," the chairman replied, rapping the table with the
caulking-mallet.

"And your head, too," Del cried, turning upon him. "Damn poor order
you preserve. Pocketing's got nothing to do with this here trial, and
why don't you shut such fool questions out? I'll take care of you
afterwards, you potwolloper!"

"You will, will you?" The chairman grew red in the face, dropped the
mallet, and sprang to his feet.

Del stepped forward to meet him, but Bill Brown sprang in between and
held them apart.

"Order, gentlemen, order," he begged. "This is no time for unseemly
exhibitions. And remember there are ladies present."

The two men grunted and subsided, and Bill Brown asked, "Mr. Bishop, we
understand that you are well acquainted with the prisoner. Will you
please tell the court what you know of his general character?"

Del broadened into a smile. "Well, in the first place, he's an
extremely quarrelsome disposition--"

"Hold! I won't have it!" The prisoner was on his feet, trembling with
anger. "You shall not swear my life away in such fashion! To bring a
madman, whom I have only met once in my life, to testify as to my
character!"

The pocket-miner turned to him. "So you don't know me, eh, Gregory St.
Vincent?"

"No," St. Vincent replied, coldly, "I do not kn