“Bring them in,” said the judge wearily.
The room became silent, as the twelve men filed in and sat down. They looked curiously at Ryker, who was holding the handkerchief to his nose and lips, but none of them looked at Pete.
“Gentlemen,” said the old judge, “have you reached a decision?”
The foreman of the jury, a tall, bearded cattleman from south of Turquoise City, arose and handed Wind River a sheet of paper.
“We have, Judge,” he said, and sat down heavily.
Wind River gave the paper to the judge, who read it slowly.
For a space of possibly ten seconds the judge stared at the back of the room, not a muscle of his face moving. An impatient cowboy scraped a boot-heel on the floor, and it sounded very loud and harsh in that silent room.
“This is your verdict?” asked the judge, without looking at the jury.
“That’s it,” said the foreman.
The old judge shifted his eyes and looked at Peter Conley.