There was a stir, and a ripple of unbelieving laughter. "Order!" the coroner cried. He was looking to Johnson for explanation.
"I was kind of wondering," the prisoner muttered, half aloud, as though not altogether surprised at the turn of events.
"Yes, sir, Bud Walton was murdered. This man here didn't kill him at all. Here's Jeff's gun. Take a look at it. It's a .45. Bud, he was killed with a 30-30 rifle. Here's the bullet. Jeff's first shot went way above his head into the ceiling, and the next two are in the boards."
CHAPTER X
A JOURNEY TO SATAN'S KINGDOM
"What're you giving us?" "Go on, Lafe." "Hush, let's hear him." "Quit crowding there, will you?" "Say, are you looking for trouble?" "Well, quit it." It was long before quiet could be obtained.
The sheriff waited for absolute silence before taking up the thread of his explanation again. Then he said, slowly scanning the faces around him—"Mr. Coroner, if you'll adjourn this here court for two days, I'll bring the murderer here."
The inquest adjourned in confusion. Thomas was released, only to be rearrested.
"I'll learn fellers like you a lesson," the sheriff told him. "Bob, give him thirty days for stealing that there Bible of yours."