Not so much might have been said of old Hod Brooks, who had slumped into a seat close to Tarbush and his prisoner. That worthy wore an alpaca coat, a pair of trousers which shrieked of the Golden Eagle Clothing Store, no waistcoat at all, and it must be confessed, no collar at all, beyond a limp strip of wilted linen decorated by no cravat whatever.
As he sat now Brooks suddenly cast a keen, curious gaze upon the face of the young defendant who sat at the left of the city marshal—a gaze which, passing at length, rested steadily, intently, on the face of Aurora Lane, who sat, icy pale, staring straight in front of her. Her left hand lay in that of Miss Julia Delafield. The eyes of the latter—whose face was flushed, as was usual with her in any time of mental emotion—remained fixed upon the man who was to prosecute this boy, whose life was linked so closely with her own.
The great lawyer seemed not to see these women at all, and at first cast no glance whatever at the defendant. The whole thing was rather trivial for him; for although his fee really had been five hundred dollars—in form of a note from Ephraim Adamson secured by a certain mortgage on certain live stock—he knew well enough he honored Adamson and this court by appearing here in a mere Justice trial.
"Order in the court!" said Blackman once more. "The case coming on for trial is City of Spring Valley on the complaint of Ephraim Adamson against Dewdonny Lane." At this bold declaration of what had been a half credited secret to Spring Valley, all Spring Valley now straightened and sat up, expectant. A sort of sigh, half a murmur of intense curiosity went over the audience. It was indeed a great day for Spring Valley. "Lane—Dewdonny Lane." So he was the son of Aurora Lane—and had no family name for his own!
Justice Blackman paused and looked inquiringly at the battered visage of old Eph Adamson. He coughed hesitatingly. "I understand this case is one of assault and battery. I believe, Judge Henderson, that you represent the plaintiff in this case?"
"Yes, your Honor," said Judge Henderson slowly, turning his full eye upon the court from its late resting place upon the campaign portrait of himself as it appeared on the wall. "I have consented to be of such service as I may in the case. Mr. Ephraim Adamson, our well-known friend here, is ready for the trial of the cause now, as I understand. I may say further, your Honor, that there will be a writ of habeas corpus sued out in due course demanding the body of the son of Ephraim Adamson, who is wrongfully restrained of his liberty at present in our city jail.
"As for this defendant——" Judge Henderson turned and cast an insolently inquiring eye upon the young man at the side of the town marshal.
"Who appears for the defendant?" demanded Judge Blackman austerely, casting a glance upon the prisoner at the bar.
Don Lane arose, half hesitatingly. "Your Honor," said he, "I presume I am the defendant in this case, although I hardly know what it's all about. I haven't any lawyer—I don't know anybody here—I'm just in town. All this has come on me very suddenly, and I haven't had time to look around. I don't see how I am guilty of anything——"