“I knowd thur must be hoss-tracks leadin’ to the place, an hoss tracks goin’ from it; an damn ’em! thur wur too many o’ ’em, goin’ everywhur—else the thing mout a been eezy enough.
“But thar wur one partickler set I’d got a down upon; an them I detarmined to foller up to the eend o’ creashun.
“They war the footmarks o’ an Amerikin hoss, hevin’ three shoes to the good, an a fourth wi’ a bit broken off the eend o’ it. This hyur’s the eyedentikul piece o’ iron!”
The witness draws his hand from the pocket of his blanket coat, in which it has been some time buried. In the fingers are seen the shoe of a horse, only three quarters complete.
He holds it on high—enough for judge, jury, and spectators to see what it is.
“Now, Mr Judge,” he continues, “an’ you o’ the jury, the hoss that carried this shoe went acrosst the purayra the same night thet the murder war committed. He went arter the man thet air murdered, as well as him thet stans thar accused o’ it. He went right upon the track o’ both, an stopped short o’ the place whur the crime wur committed.
“But the man that rud him didn’t stop short. He kep on till he war clost up to the bloody spot; an it war through him it arterwards bekim bloody. It war the third hoss—him wi’ the broken shoe—thet carried the murderer!”
“Go on, Mr Stump!” directs the judge. “Explain what you mean by this extraordinary statement.”
“What I mean, judge, air jest this. The man I’m speakin’ o’ tuk stan’ in the thicket, from which stan’ he fired the shet thet killed poor young Peintdexter.”
“What man? Who was it? His name! Give his name!” simultaneously interrogate twenty voices.