nsisted that she had never
visited his house in her life.

"Where have you been living since leaving home?"

"In the hills."

"Where?"

"At the sawmill."

"How long had you been there when you heard of Watson's death?"

"About two weeks."

"Were you in camp?"

"No, we were staying in the old cabin by the creek."

"You mean Busby and Kitsong and yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, now, which one of these men did you leave home with--Busby or
Kitsong?"

Her head drooped, and while she wavered Raines interposed, arguing that
the question was not pertinent. But Carmody insisted, and soon developed
the fact that she was much more eager to defend Busby than Kitsong. She
denied that he had ever cursed Watson or threatened to do him harm, but
the coroner forced her to admit that Busby had told her of having had
trouble with the dead man, and then, thrusting a pair of shoes at her,
he sternly asked:

"Are these your shoes?"

"No, sir," she firmly declared.

Her answer surprised Hanscom and dazed the sheriff, who exclaimed
beneath his breath, "The little vixen!"

Carmody's tone sharpened: "Do you mean to tell me that these are not the
shoes you wore in town yesterday?"

"No, I don't mean that."

"What _do_ you mean?"

"I mean they're not my shoes. They belong to that Kauffman girl. I found
them in that cabin."

Hanscom sprang to his feet. "She's lying, Your Honor."

"Sit down!" shouted Raines.

The entire audience rose like a wave under the influence of the passion
in these voices; the sheriff shouted for silence and order, and Carmody
hammered on his desk, commanding everybody to be seated. At last, when
he could be heard, he rebuked Hanscom.

"You're out of order," he said, and, turning to Raines, requested him to
take his seat.

Raines shook his fist at the ranger. "You can't address such remarks to
a witness. _You_ sit down."

Hanscom was defiant. "I will subside when you do."

"Sit _down_, both of you!" roared Carmody.

They took seats, but eyed each other like animals crouching to spring.

Carmody lectured them both, and, as he cooled, Hanscom apologized. "I'm
sorry I spoke," he said; "but the ownership of those shoes has got to be
proved. I _know_ they belong to this girl!"

"We'll come to that; don't you worry," said Carmody, and he turned to
Rita, who was cowering in the midst of this uproar like a mountain
quail. "Who told you to deny the ownership of these shoes?"

"Nobody."

"J