“Peter Conley, stand up,” he said. It was little more than a whisper.
Roaring nudged Pete; he got awkwardly to his feet. Dawn got to her feet, as if to assist Pete, and the judge shifted his gaze to her. He looked back at the verdict.
“Peter Conley,” he said, “the jury has found you guilty of murder in the first degree.”
The judge stopped, but did not look up. Dawn reached over and put her hand on Pete’s arm. He turned his head and looked at her, his face twisted painfully.
There came a slight noise from the rear of the room, and the judge looked up. It was Hashknife Hartley, coming down the aisle, his spurs rasping harshly on the board floor—a jarring note in the most dramatic moment of the trial. But Hashknife did not seem aware of it. There was an empty seat at the end of the first row, and he went all the way down to it.
He looked at Ryker as he sat down, and a smile creased his wide lips. He looked at Peter and Dawn, standing up. The girl looked at him and there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Hashknife turned his head and looked at the silent jury. The room was very quiet.
“They found him guilty, Hartley,” whispered a cowboy behind Hashknife and the whisper could be heard all over the room.
The judge looked sharply at the whisperer.
“Peter Conley,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “you have been found guilty. Is there any reason why the sentence of the court should not be imposed at this time?”
Peter did not speak. He did not know what to say.