n fair play. Now, is it your already formed wish to
punish this man? I say, no. I say, first give him his chance."

As Franklin ceased and seated himself the silence was again broken by a
rising buzz of conversation. This was proving really a very
interesting show, this trial. It must go on yet a little further.

"By jinks," said one cow-puncher, "that's right. That fellow Juan is
_loco_, an' you all done knowed that, always."

"He ain't so d----n _loco_ but what he could kill a man, all right,"
said another,

"Sure. Cal Greathouse was worth sever'l o' this Greaser," remarked
another.

"I don't see how you c'n hang him legal," said a judicial voice.

"To h----l with this new-fangled law," growled a rough answer from near
the door. "Are we dependin' on this here new way o' takin' care of
fellers that kills too many folks? If the Greaser done it, he's
guilty, an' that settles it. Hangin's too good for a feller that'll
kill a man in camp, an' then try to burn him up."

"That's right!" "Sure!" "That's the talk!" were the many replies
greeting this comment.

"Order, order, gentlemen!" called the judge from the bench, pounding on
the box before him.

"Call William Haskins," said the prosecuting attorney, standing up,
with his hands in his pockets.

"William Haskins, William Haskins, William Haskins! Come into Court!"
cried out the clerk from his corner of the store box. No immediate
response was made. Some one nudged Curly, who started up.

"Who--me?" he said.

"Is your name William Haskins?" asked the judge.

"Reckon _so_," said Curly. "My folks used to call me that. I usually
go under the road brand o' Curly, though." He took his seat on a stool
near the store box, was sworn, with his hat on, and the prosecuting
attorney began the examination.

"What is your name?"

"Why, Curly."

"What is your occupation?"

"What?"

"How do you make your living?"

"Punchin' cows. Not that I 'low it's any o' yore d----d business."

"Where do you reside?"

"Where do I live?"

"Yes."

"Well, now, I don't know. My folks lives on the Brazos, an' I've been
drivin' two years. Now I taken up a claim on the Smoky, out here. I
'low I'll go North right soon, to Wyoming maybe."

"How old are you?"

"Oh, I don't know; but I 'low about twenty-four or twenty-five, along
in there."

"Where were you last Wednesday?"

"What?"

"Were you one of the _posse_ sent out to search for Cal Greathouse?"