"That's the man," she said, "I'd swear to him anywhere. He's the man that killed my husband."
And before the Justice of the Peace, when he was arraigned for examination, she accused him with passionate hate.
"He's a McIvor!" she cried, "his father killed my brother and my elder sister's son! And now he's killed my husband—he shot him from ambush, but I reached him before he died. He had fallen from the wagon and when I raised his head he whispered:
"'Hall killed me—Hall McIvor!' And then he fell back, dead!"
That was all her testimony, the only thing that held him and the one thing that could not be shaken; and he was bound over to the Grand Jury, which held him for trial at the pending session of court. But had Isham spoken these words before he died? In the dreary days that followed Hall debated it, pro and con; but he knew and she knew that, as long as she swore to it, it might as well be the fact. For Isham was dead, there were no other witnesses; and it was a question of veracity between Miz Zoolah and himself, with the odds in favor of the woman. He was shut up in a cell, without a single friend to consult with or to carry a message to Allifair; but she was at large, with a band of Texas gunmen to see that his friends did not come.
Meshackatee could help him, but Hall knew in his heart that Meshackatee dared not come; the man-trap was still set and he would not escape again as he had when he first came to town. And Allifair could help, for she had heard Isham's threats and his offer of a reward for his death; but the moment she appeared her aunt would seize upon her and make her a virtual prisoner. Winchester Bassett could help most, if he happened to be so minded; but he had escaped to the hills, riding a relay of swift horses, and established a perfect alibi. On the very day of the killing he had been seen in Maverick Basin, a hundred and twenty miles away. So the whole matter stood and Hall waited in silence until the day of his trial came at last.
A thousand times, as he lay sweltering in the heat, breathing the dead, sickly air of his prison, he thought of Allifair, hidden away in their eagles' nest and watching the empty trail. How many times as the two long months dragged by must she have thought he was wounded or killed; and yet there was no one but Meshackatee that he would trust with a message, for Miz Zoolah was still on the watch. Somewhere, she knew, Hall had hidden away Allifair, and she had her spies even in the jail; and rather than expose her to the wrath of the Randolphs, Hall left Allifair to wait on alone. How she would live he could only guess, for her supplies would be exhausted; but he imagined her at dawn gathering grass-seeds and piñon-nuts or bringing back turkeys from her traps. He imagined her roasting acorns to grind them up for coffee and ranging like a quail to find berries, even gnawing the bark of trees or cooking mescal heads to break the dead monotony of her diet. Yet even that was better he said in his heart than to fall into the clutches of Miz Zoolah.
He went to his trial like a man in a dream following the sheriff up the narrow winding stairs; but when he entered the crowded courtroom with its bank of auditors standing behind he swept the sea of faces with keen eyes. Here were the men that were to try him, the men of Geronimo; for what they thought would be reflected by the jury which would be called to sit on his case. The jury would cast the ballot but The People would decide for thought is as fluid as air. It passes from man to man despite the menace of bailiffs and the charges of the court commanding silence; and the opinion of the majority finds its expression at last when the foreman says: "Guilty" or "Not Guilty."
Hall plead "Not Guilty," and he plead according to fact, for his hand was innocent of the crime; yet so intimate is the connection between what we think and what we are that somehow he felt himself the killer. He had come to Geronimo to kill Isham or be killed; he had ridden to his ranch to waylay him; and only the intervention of Winchester Bassett had kept him from accomplishing his purpose. Not that he held himself to blame, for the teachings of a lifetime made him consider such an act as praiseworthy; but the look in his eyes was that of a man-killer who seeks no excuse for his crime. And the men of Geronimo, being a hardy band of citizens, looked on in grim approval. According to their code he had committed no crime—he had fought a fair fight and won.
Being questioned he admitted that on the morning of the killing he had been present at the scene of the crime, he acknowledged his connection with the Maverick Basin War and his grudge against the deceased; but he denied most vigorously that he had fired the shots that had resulted in the death of Isham. All this he did voluntarily, in the form of a statement, and then he sat down and waited. There was a stir in the crowd and Mrs. Scarborough stepped forward, swathed in black to emphasize her widowhood; but when she began to talk she threw back the long veil and her eyes became set with hate. Question after question was asked and answered, the time and place were fully established; and then the District Attorney asked the one crucial question: