Everything as the accused has stated—all except the head.
Where is this?
The spectators do not stay to inquire. Guided by the speech of Zeb Stump, their eyes are directed towards the body, carefully scrutinising it.
Two bullet holes are seen; one over the region of the heart; the other piercing the breast-bone just above the abdomen.
It is upon this last that the gaze becomes concentrated: since around its orifice appears a circle of blood with streams straying downward. These have saturated the soft cottonade—now seemingly desiccated.
The other shot-hole shows no similar signs. It is a clear round cut in the cloth—about big enough for a pea to have passed through, and scarce discernible at the distance. There is no blood stain around it.
“It,” says Zeb Stump, pointing to the smaller, “it signifies nothin’. It’s the bullet I fired myself out o’ the gully; the same I’ve ben tellin’ ye o’. Ye obsarve thar’s no blood abeout it: which prove thet it wur a dead body when it penetrated. The other air different. It wur the shot as settled him; an ef I ain’t dog-gonedly mistaken, ye’ll find the bit o’ lead still inside o’ the corp. Suppose ye make a incizyun, an see!”
The proposal meets with no opposition. On the contrary, the judge directs it to be done as Zeb has suggested.
The stays, both fore and back, are unloosed; the water-guards unbuckled; and the body is lifted out of the saddle.
It feels stark and stiff to those who take part in the unpacking,—the arms and limbs as rigid as if they had become fossilised. The lightness tells of desiccation: for its specific gravity scarce exceeds that of a mummy!