As to the Connemara man, it was not thought necessary to put him upon trial. If an accomplice, he could only have acted at the instigation of his master; and he might prove more serviceable in the witness-box than in the dock.
Before the bar, then—if we may be permitted the figure of speech—there stands but one prisoner, Maurice Gerald—known to those gazing upon him as Maurice the mustanger.
Chapter Eighty Seven.
A False Witness.
There are but few present who have any personal acquaintance with the accused; though there are also but a few who have never before heard his name. Perhaps not any.
It is only of late that this has become generally known: for previous to the six-shot duel with Calhoun, he had no other reputation than that of an accomplished horse-catcher.
All admitted him to be a fine young fellow—handsome, dashing, devoted to a fine horse, and deeming it no sin to look fondly on a fair woman—free of heart, as most Irishmen are, and also of speech, as will be more readily believed.
But neither his good, nor evil, qualities were carried to excess. His daring rarely exhibited itself in reckless rashness; while as rarely did his speech degenerate into “small talk.”