Slowly she turned to face Beck.
"Yes. Tom. We're.... We're sorry, ma'am," Dad stammered; then recovered and with an effort to belittle the situation by his manner proceeded: "Somebody did a small amount of shootin' at me this afternoon. Webb, here, an' I was at the head of Twenty-Mile and somebody fired three times at me. Tom come in tonight with three empty shells in his gun. He.... He didn't explain well enough to suit us because all he could say was that he fired at a coyote comin' down the road, but—"
"And you're going to take him to jail?"
Her hand had gone slowly to her throat, fingers clamping on the gold locket as if for support. Her eyes had become very dark.
"Well, ma'am, that's about all we can do: turn him over to the sheriff," Hepburn said.
She drew a deep breath, a second interval of tense silence prevailed and then Jane, putting one arm across her eyes, began to laugh. The laugh started low in her throat and rippled upward until it was full and as clear as the ringing of a glass gong. She swayed back against the wall and pressed her extended palms hard against the tough logs....
"On that evidence?" she cried. "On such evidence you would charge a man with attempted murder and turn him over to the law? Because there were empty shells in his revolver?
"Why, I was with him when he came down the road and he did shoot at a coyote ... three times ... I heard it; I saw it ... I was there."
She leaned her head back and her body shook with silent, nervous laughter.
"Praise ye the Lord!" chanted the Reverend, "For his ways are wonderous and strange to behold!"