A murmur swept like a wave through the courtroom. Men and women craned their necks to see the young cowman as he passed to the witness stand. Ruth noticed that Larry’s face was gray and that he kept his eyes on the floor. But even then she had no premonition of what he was about to do.
But Rowan knew. While Silcott answered nervously the first routine questions of the lawyer, the prisoner watched him steadily with a scornful little smile. Rowan had taught him the practical side of his business, had looked after his cattle, given him his friendship. Once he had dragged him out of the Fryingpan when he was drowning. His feeling for the younger man was like that of an older brother. He had felt an affectionate pride in his pupil’s skill at roping and at riding. Now Larry, to save his own skin, was betraying him and the rest of his companions.
Haight was very gentle and considerate of his star witness. But Silcott was in hell none the less. Dry-lipped and pallid, with tiny sweat beads on his damp forehead, he faced row upon row of tense, eager faces all hanging on what he had to tell. Not one of them all but would despise him. His stripped and naked soul writhed, the vanity for once burned out of him. He shivered with dread. It was being driven into him that though he had bought his life he must pay for his treachery with years of isolation and contempt.
The prosecuting attorney led him over the story of the night when he had ridden with the sheep raiders. Step by step the witness took the party from the round-up to the camp at Bald Knob.
“Who had charge of your party?” continued Haight.
“McCoy.”
“Did you elect him leader?”
“No. He just took command. He was boss of the round-up.”
“Who assigned you positions before the attack?”
“McCoy.”