“He didn’t steal it. I myself lent him the horse. It belongs to us,” was the reply.
“By Gosh!” exclaimed Owen, “you tole me yerself yer hadn’t sot n’ary an eye on him.”
“So I hadn’t when you were there, he did not come until the next day.”
The jury whistled collectively and incredulously.
“Silence!” said the foreman.
“I can now explain,” said Cotterell. “I didn’t go to Mrs. Weston’s house until two days after—after Mills’ death——”
“A’ter yer killed him,” corrected Owen.
“And you were there the next day,” concluded Cotterell, not taking any notice of the interruption.
“Yes, that is it. Mr. Cotterell came the next evening but one after the prairie fire, and I gave him the mare to go away on, because his colt broke loose from the bars in the dark.” Olive spoke quite quietly, with no trace of excitement beyond a knitting of her pretty eyebrows.
“Wal, I reckon we hain’t got nuthin’ more to do then,” said one of the jury-men, getting up from his nail-keg and strapping up his holster.