Scud. I appeal against your usurped authority. This lynch law is a wild and lawless proceeding. Here's a pictur' for a civilized community to afford; yonder, a poor, ignorant savage, and round him a circle of hearts, white with revenge and hate, thirsting for his blood; you call yourselves judges—you ain't—you're a jury of executioners. It is such scenes as these that bring disgrace upon our Western life.
M'Closky. Evidence! Evidence! Give us evidence. We've had talk enough; now for proof.
Omnes. Yes, yes! Proof, proof.
Scud. Where am I to get it? The proof is here, in my heart.
Pete. [Who has been looking about the camera.] Top, sar! Top a bit! O, laws-a-mussey, see dis; here's a pictur' I found stickin' in that yar telescope machine, sar! look sar!
Scud. A photographic plate. [Pete holds lantern up.] What's this, eh? two forms! The child—'tis he! dead—and above him—Ah! ah! Jacob M'Closky, 'twas you murdered that boy!
M'Closky. Me?
Scud. You! You slew him with that tomahawk; and as you stood over his body with the letter in your hand, you thought that no witness saw the deed, that no eye was on you—but there was, Jacob M'Closky, there was. The eye of the Eternal was on you—the blessed sun in heaven, that, looking down, struck upon this plate the image of the deed. Here you are, in the very attitude of your crime!
M'Closky. 'Tis false!
Scud. 'Tis true! the apparatus can't lie. Look there, jurymen. [Shows plate to jury.] Look there. O, you wanted evidence—you called for proof—Heaven has answered and convicted you.