"Well, this here shorely is the funniest layout I ever did see," said Curly, somewhat injured. "A feller can't say a d——d thing but only jest what you all want him to say. Now, say—"
"Yes, but—" began Franklin, fearing that he might meet trouble with this witness even as the prosecutor had, and seeing the latter smiling behind his hand in recognition of this fact.
"Now, say," insisted Curly, "if you want something they ain't none o' you said a word about yet, I'll tell you something. You see, Juan, he had a sister, and this here Cal Greathouse, he—"
"I object, yo' Honah! I object!" cried the State's attorney, springing to his feet. "This is bringin' the dignity o' the law into ridicule, sah! into ridicule! I object!"
"Er, ah-h-h!" yawned the judge, suddenly sitting up, "'Journ court, Mr. Clerk! We will set to-morrow mornin' at the same place, at nine o'clock.—Mr. Sheriff, take charge of the prisoner.—Where is the sheriff, Mr. Clerk?"
"Please the Court," said the prosecuting attorney, "Sheriff Watson is not here to-day. He is lyin' sick out to his ranch. He was injured, yo' Honah, in arrestin' Ike Anderson, and he has not yet recovered."
"Well, who is in charge of this prisoner?" said the Court. "There ought to be some one to take care of him."
"I reckon I am, Judge," said Curly. "He is sort o' stayin' with me while Bill's under the weather."
"Well, take him in charge, some one, and have him here in the morning."
"All right, judge," said Curly quietly, "I'll take care of him."