The marshal came forward and was sworn.
"You are a United States marshal?"
"Yes, your honor."
"You submit proof?"
The marshal's credentials were read.
"You claim these prisoners for extradition?"
"Yes, sir."
"Sit down. Cyrus Y. Jones." The other stockman was sworn. "You are representative of certain stock associations and submit proof? Right. You claim certain cattle alleged to be stolen, and found in possession of the prisoners? Right. You submit photographs identifying certain of these cattle and evidence of theft. And you offer twenty-five thousand dollars' reward for recovery of the stock. Pay that money into court and take my receipt.
"Prisoners, you are charged in your own country with robbery-under-arms and homicide in various degrees. Now, I don't pretend to understand to what particular degree you may or may not have murdered people, but it seems to me that being killed even to a very slight extent must be damned inconvenient. I don't want to know whether you're guilty or not guilty, because it's no business of mine. I do know that this official who claims you represents the republic. I have plenty of evidence that you were found in this country under suspicious circumstances, and that you proceeded to make yourselves a general nuisance. If I committed you for vagrancy or assault, it would delay you in a business which you must have deeply at heart. I know that if I were charged with a tenth part of these crimes I'd never sleep until I proved my innocence. Do you or do you not wish to prove your innocence?"
The prisoners scratched their heads.