"Mr. Kincaid lost his cap, just as he said, and Curly carried it into the woods and dropped it. Another man came along and picked it up and put it on. Then he walked through the thicket and came up with Mr. Pritchard. He knew where Mr. Pritchard was because Mr. Pritchard had just shot his little rifle at a hawk or something. He stabbed Mr. Pritchard, and then walked down hill and climbed up on a stump to look around. He was facing down hill. He saw Mr. Kincaid and Curly way below. Just then his cap was knocked off by another bullet."
"What other bullet?" interposed the prosecution sharply.
"That was just an accident," said Bobby confusedly, "it happened to hit. It wasn't shot at him at all."
"You mean a spent ball from somewhere else? Who shot it? Where did it come from?"
"I'll 'splain that in a minute. Then he ran as fast as he could——"
That was as far as Bobby got for the moment. A slight confusion at one of the doors interrupted him. Almost immediately it died, but before Bobby could resume, the sheriff elbowed his way forward.
"Laughton—you know, that second witness, the fellow who worked for Pritchard—tried to get out. I have him in charge."
"Hold him," said the judge. The sheriff elbowed his way back down the aisle.
"How do you know all this?" began the prosecuting attorney.
"If Mr. Kincaid wore the cap, why isn't his head hurt?" demanded Bobby.