"How, Mr. Tilden, how far is it to the cross-roads where the mail-carrier says he was robbed?"
"About a mile and a half from my place."
"And how long would it take an able-bodied man to walk it?"
"'Bout fifteen minutes."
"Not more?"
"No, sir."
The Government's attorney had no questions to ask, and said so with a certain assumed nonchalance.
Cartwright bowed smilingly, dismissed Bud's father with a satisfied gesture of the hand, looked over the court-room with the air of a man who was unable at the moment to find what he wanted, and in a low voice called: "Jennetta Mooro!"
The girl, who sat within three feet of Cartwright, having followed the old man almost to the witness-stand, rose timidly, drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, and took the seat vacated by Bud's father. She had that half-fed look in her face which one sometimes finds in the women of the mountain-districts. She was frightened and very pale. As she pushed her poke-bonnet back from her ears her unkempt brown hair fell about her neck.
But Tilden, at mention of her name, half-started from his chair and would have risen to his feet had not the officer laid his hand upon him.