There was a dead pause of some duration. The jury sat with eyes fixed upon the ground.
“And who was the man?” said a juror at last.
“Didn’t ask him; and it warn’t written on his face. He was from the States; but whether a hosier, or a buckeye, or a mudhead, is more than I can say.”
“The thing must be investigated, Alcalde,” said another of the jury, after a second pause.
“It must so,” answered the Alcalde.
“What’s the good of so much investigation?” grumbled Bob.
“What good?” repeated the Alcalde. “Because we owe it to ourselves, to the dead man, and to you, not to sentence you without having held an inquest on the body. There’s another thing which I must call your attention to,” continued he, turning to the jury; “the man is half out of his mind—not compos mentis, as they say. He’s got the fever, and had it when he did the deed; he was urged on by Johnny, and maddened by his losses at play. In spite of his wild excitement, however, he saved that gentleman’s life yonder, Mr Edward Nathaniel Morse.”
“Did he so?” said one of the jury.
“That did he,” replied I, “not only by saving me from drowning when my horse dragged me, half-dead and helpless, into the river, but also by the care and attention he forced Johnny and his mulatto to bestow upon me. Without him I should not be alive at this moment.”
Bob gave me a look which went to my heart. The tears were standing in his eyes. The jury heard me in deep silence.