"He was an outdoor man, a rancher, perhaps, or more likely a cattleman," she concluded.
"You have not seen him since that time?"
She opened her lips to say "No," but she did not say it. Her eyes had traveled past the lawyer and fixed themselves on Kirby Lane. He saw the recognition grow in them, the leap of triumph in her as the long, thin arm shot straight toward him.
"That's the man!"
A tremendous excitement buzzed in the courtroom. It was as though some one had exploded a mental bomb. Men and women craned forward to see the man who had been identified, the man who no doubt had murdered James Cunningham. The murmur of voices, the rustle of skirts, the shuffling of moving bodies filled the air.
The coroner rapped for order. "Silence in the court-room," he said sharply.
"Which man do you mean, Mrs. Hull?" asked the lawyer.
"The big brown man sittin' at the end of the front bench, the one right behind you."
Kirby rose. "Think prob'ly she means me," he suggested.
An officer in uniform passed down the aisle and laid a hand on the cattleman's shoulder. "You're under arrest," he said.