The men, or the jurors, as I may call them, looked at one another, but said nothing.
“It’s no use,” again cried Bob, in a shrill, agonising tone. “If he had attacked me, or only threatened me; but no, he didn’t do it. I hear his words still, when he said, ‘Do it not, man! I’ve wife and child. What you intend brings no blessin’ on the doer.’ But I heard nothin’ then except the voice of the devil; I brought the rifle down—levelled—fired—”
The man’s agony was so intense that even the iron-featured jury seemed moved by it. They cast sharp but stolen glances at Bob. There was a short silence.
“So you have killed a man?” said a deep bass voice at last.
“Ay, that have I!” gasped Bob.
“And how came that?” continued his questioner.
“How it came? You must ask the devil, or Johnny. No, not Johnny, he can tell you nothing; he was not there. No one can tell you but me; and I hardly know how it was. The man was at Johnny’s, and Johnny showed me his belt full of money.”
“Johnny!” exclaimed several of the jury.
“Ay, Johnny! He reckoned on winning it from him, but the man was too cautious for that; and when Johnny had plucked all my feathers, won my twenty dollars fifty——”