“Gentlemen of the jury! We are here assembled to try a case, the particulars of which are, I believe, known to all of you. A man has been murdered,—the son of one of our most respected citizens; and the prisoner at the bar is accused of having committed the crime. It is my duty to direct you as to the legal formalities of the trial. It is yours to decide—after hearing the evidence to be laid before you—whether or not the accusation be sustained.”
The prisoner is asked, according to the usual formality,—“Guilty, or not guilty?”
“Not guilty,” is the reply; delivered in a firm, but modest tone.
Cassius Calhoun, and some “rowdies” around him, affect an incredulous sneer.
The judge resumes his cigar, and remains silent.
The counsel for the State, after some introductory remarks, proceeds to introduce the witnesses for the prosecution.
First called is Franz Oberdoffer.
After a few unimportant interrogatories about his calling, and the like, he is requested to state what he knows of the affair. This is the common routine of a Texan trial.
Oberdoffer’s evidence coincides with the tale already told by him: how on the night that young Poindexter was missed, Maurice Gerald had left his house at a late hour—after midnight. He had settled his account before leaving; and appeared to have plenty of money. It was not often Oberdoffer had known him so well supplied with cash. He had started for his home on the Nueces; or wherever it was. He had not said where he was going. He was not on the most friendly terms with witness. Witness only supposed he was going there, because his man had gone the day before, taking all his traps upon a pack-mule—everything, except what the mustanger himself carried off on his horse.
What had he carried off?