"Jes' so! But, es I war sayin', I knowed 'im in ol' Kaintuck jist afore he war driv' away by the vigilantes—"
"For what reason?" asked one of the jurors.
"I don't know. Mebbe 'twas 'cause he scattered too much o' the queer, mebbe 'twasn't," returned the witness, significantly. "Anyhow, he left, an' then I nixt see'd him hyar. One day—mebbe two weeks gone by—he come to me an' says, says he, 'Green, my fri'nd, what you doin', anyhow?' 'Oh, jist sorter sloshin' round, like,' says I.
"Then arter a w'ile he said he could put me in a leetle way to make money, ef I'd no 'bjection. He said he's in the ol' business, an' wanted me to take holt and try to sell the 'queer,' offerin' to let me hev it fer fifteen dollars a hunderd, till I sorter got started, an' found rig'lar customers. I pertended to be all-fired glad, an' he guv me one hunderd dollars on tick."
"But why didn't you tell of this before?" demanded the judge.
"An' git sarved like Bart Clowry? Who was I to go to, ontel I hearn thet you un's was on the trail? Es soon 's I knowed thet, I come an' told you, didn't I?"
"Have you any of the money with you?"
"Yas," replied the witness, drawing a small package from his bootleg. "Hyar it is. I kep' it hid till to-day, 'cause ef it 'd 'a' bin found on me afore, the fellers mought 'a' thunk I's one o' them 'ar fellers."
The money, all in five-dollar coins, was passed to the jurors who, after a careful examination, pronounced it to be counterfeit. Surely, the case began to look black for the prisoner but he still maintained a haughty look upon his pale, handsome features, while his eye flashed back the angry glances that were cast at him from all sides.
"That is all the evidence upon the first charge, I believe," spoke McGuire, but he was interrupted by a voice from the crowd: