“Yea-a-a-ah? The hell he did!”
“Shore did. Go wash your face and I’ll have you some eggs.”
“To hell with the eggs! I’m goin’ to town.”
Jud whirled and ran down to the bunkhouse. Jinyus looked after him, shaking his head.
“I dunno what it’s all about,” he told himself aloud, “but it looks t’ me as though somebody was all het up. My, but that jigger shore can yank a six-gun!”
Within fifteen minutes after the opening of court that morning the case had gone to the jury. Ryker had made no plea to the jury, and the judge’s instructions were summed up in very few words. The twelve men had filed out, preceded by Wind River Jim, who acted as bailiff.
The judge did not retire. He slumped forward on his desk, resting his chin on one hand and watching the crowded room. Ryker sat at his table, slouched back in his chair, confident that the jury would bring a verdict for him.
At the opposite table sat Dawn and Peter with Roaring Rigby. Peter was not handcuffed. All the cattle ranches in the country were represented. The Black Horse Saloon was closed, so that every one could attend, and there was a sprinkling of the girls from the redlight row.
English Ed had a front seat, as did Cutter and Frank Moran. The room buzzed with conversation. English Ed leaned past Cutter and spoke to Moran— “I wonder where Hartley is, Moran?”
“I don’t know.”