Returning some ten or fifteen minutes later he noticed Lee was absent. The magistrate answered his query. "Sent him round to throw the harness on my team," he drawled, as he pored over a Criminal Code, "he'll be back in a moment—ah! here he is." And just then the latter entered, along with Yorke. The hobo was sitting slumped in a chair, as Slavin had left him. With one accord they all centred their gaze upon the unkempt delinquent. Ragged and unwashed, he presented a decidedly unlovely appearance, which was heightened by his stubble-coated visage showing signs as of recent ill-usage. His age might have been anything between thirty and forty.
The sergeant, a huge, menacing figure of a man, stepped forward and motioned to him to stand. "Now, see here; look, me man!" he said slowly and distinctly, a sort of tense eagerness underlying his soft tones, "behfure I shtart in charrgin' ye wid anythin' I'm goin' tu put a few questions tu ye in front av this ginthleman"—he indicated the justice—"He's a mag'strate, so ye'd best tell th' trute. Now—th' night behfure last—betune say, nine an' twelve o'clock . . . fwhere was ye?"—he paused—"Think harrd, an' come across wid th' straight goods."
A tense silence succeeded. The hobo, the cynosure of a ring of watchful expectant faces, mumbled indistinctly, "I was sleepin'—up in th' loft o' th' livery-stable."
"Did yeh—" Slavin eyed the man keenly—"did yeh see—or hear—any fella take a harse out av th' shtable durin' that time?"
Gully moved slightly. With the mannerism he affected, his left hand dragging at his moustache and his right slid between the lapels of his coat, he leaned forward and fixed his eyes full upon the hobo's battered visage.
Meeting that strange, compelling gaze the latter: stared back at him, his face an ugly, expressionless mask. He shuffled with his feet. "Why, yes!" he said finally, "I did heer a bunch o' fellers come in. They was a-talkin' all excited-like 'bout a fight, or sumphin'. They was a-hollerin', 'Beat it, Larry! beat it!' t' somewun, an' I heered some feller say: 'All right! give us my —— saddle!' an' then it sounded like as if a horse was bein' taken out. I didn't heer no more after that—went t' sleep. I 'member comin' down 'bout th' middle o' th' night t' git a drink at th' trough. This feller come in then,"—he indicated Lee. "He hollered sumphin' an' started in t' chase me . . . so I beat it up inta th' loft agin'." He shivered. "'T'was cold up ther—I well-nigh froze," he whined.
The sergeant exhausted his no mean powers of exhortation. It was all in vain. The hobo protested that he had neither seen nor heard anyone else taking out, or bringing in, a horse during the night.
Slavin finally ceased his efforts and glowered at the man in silent impotence. "How come yez tu get th' face av yez bashed up so?" he demanded.
"Fell thru' one o' th' feed-holes up in th' loft," was the sulky response.
"Fwhat name du ye thravel undher?"