mouth flowing with apologies to the alcalde for his clumsiness, he
glanced downward swiftly into one of his hands, and then, with another
quick gleam of cunning triumph in his eyes, he quickly slipped the hand
into one of his pockets, and, taking his place in front of the barrel,
faced the alcalde.

"What is your name and present business?" the alcalde asked, when he had
sworn the witness, in the same manner Ugger had been sworn, to tell the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

"Spikenard Quinley," the man answered, shifting his eyes quickly from
the face of the alcalde to the two big revolvers on top of the barrel;
"but most of my friends jest call me Spike, for short. I'm bound for th'
diggin's, 'long with my pard, Bill Ugger, him who jest testified."

"Tell the jury all that you know about the case now before it; and make
your testimony as brief as possible, please," and the alcalde settled
back on his rude seat and fixed his eyes on the face of the witness.

Quinley did not prove to be as dramatic a witness as Ugger had been; but
he told a seemingly straightforward and honest story of how he and his
partner had witnessed the killing of the man supposed to be John
Stackpole, that differed only in the manner of its telling from the one
already told by Ugger, and, consequently, need not be repeated here. He,
also, was very positive that the two men, who had jumped up from the
prostrate body of the man and had held them up with their rifles, were
the two prisoners; and right here he introduced a bit of new
corroborative evidence in a most effective and dramatic manner.

He had completed his testimony and had been dismissed by the alcalde and
had started away from the court-barrel, when he suddenly stopped, as if
he had unexpectedly remembered something that might have a bearing on
the case, and turned to the alcalde.

"Excuse me, y'ur honor," he said, as he thrust a hand into one of his
pockets, the same pocket into which he had thrust the same hand a moment
after his tumble over the root, "but I've jest reckerlected that I've
sumthin' right here in my pocket that might help tew identify the
prisoners as the murderers, an' ag'in it might not--not that me and Bill
needs any more identifin', but, naterly, you, not seem' 'em kill th'
man, ain't so sart'in an' wants all th' proof that you can git tew show
that you shore have got the right party; an' so, if y'ur honor don't
object, I've got a leetle sumth