Read Online The Big Sky by A. B. Guthrie Jr. - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A. B. Guthrie Jr.
Ads: Link
one, but a little light."
It wasn't light, either, Boone said to himself, but heavy enough for even b'ar or buffier.
"I guess any robber" the cold eyes were on Boone "would be glad to get them."
"I suppose so."
"I object." It was Beecher again, standing and shaking his head so that the queue swung behind his back. Judge Test moved one finger. "No fiddle-faddle."
"You can have him," said Eggleston to Squire Beecher.
Beecher asked, "Did you say you had never seen this boy before?"
"Never."
Beecher aimed a finger at Bedwell. "But, as a matter of fact, you shared his supper with him night before last, didn't you?"
"No."
"You shared his supper with him and spent the night at his campfire, and you got up early, while the boy still slept, and made off with his rifle and horn and pouch, didn't you?"
"No. I did not."
Eggleston interrupted. "The state objects to this line of questioning."
"Go on," said Judge Test to Beecher.
"And the boy attacked you just in the hope of getting his rifle back?"
"It wasn't his rifle."
The questions went on. Through a window Boone could see a tavern across the street and, at the side of it and farther on, the wooded knobs lifting to the horizon. He thought of the cave where he had spent the night, and the rain whispering on the rocks while he stayed dry inside.
"That's all," said Beecher. Bedwell started to get up, but Eggleston motioned him back. Eggleston's thin mouth worked carefully."Just a minute. Can you identify the rifle?"
"Of course. It was made by old Ben Mills at Harrodsburg, Kentucky. I bought it from him."
"Sheriff," Eggleston asked, "bring the rifle around, will you?" He looked at the piece, held it for Beecher's inspection and then handed it to the jurymen. It made the rounds among them while they nodded their heads. The prosecutor let himself smile.
Squire Beecher was on his feet. "Wait! Wait!" His finger leveled at Bedwell. "You could have memorized the name of the maker after you had stolen the rifle, couldn't you?"
"Yes," said Bedwell. "If I had stolen it."
"As a matter of fact, that would probably be the first thing you would do, wouldn't it?" asked Beecher, his eyes going from one juror to another. They looked at him and looked away, as if they couldn't be jarred loose from an idea.
Bedwell said, "Probably. If I had stolen it."
Eggleston pointed his lean face at the bench. "That's the case."
Squire Beecher turned to Boone. "All right," he said. His finger showed the way to the witness stand.
Boone got up and went over and sat down. At one side of him were the jurors, at the other the judges' bench. In front of him were the attorneys and Bedwell and the clerk with his big book and pen, and beyond them the townspeople, staring at him, turning to talk behind shielding hands out of eager, curling mouths. They eyes came together on him, as if everything was just one big eye and he was all there was to see. Only the Indian sat quiet, looking at him out of eyes that caught a gleam from the window, his hands idle in his lap, holding the moccasins. He wouldn't be a real western Indian, but a Miami, or maybe a Pottawatomi. Far back in the room a man was smiling at Boone, like a body would smile at a friend. In the whole passel of faces his was the only friendly one, unless it would be the Indian's.
"What is your name?" asked Beecher.
"Boone Caudill."
"In your own words," said Beecher quietly, "will you tell the court about your fight this morning and the circumstances surrounding it?"
"It's my gun. He stoled it."
"Wait a minute, now. Start at the first."
"I was fixin' my supper-"
"When and where?"
"Night before yistiddy. Down the road a piece."
"The other side of Greenville?"
"I reckon so."
"Go on."
Boone made a little gesture at Bedwell. "He came ridin' up."
"Yes?"
"He gave me his name and asked if he could put up, too."
"Yes?"
"Come mornin', he was gone, and the rifle to boot."
"And so," said Squire Beecher, "when you came upon him today you tried
It wasn't light, either, Boone said to himself, but heavy enough for even b'ar or buffier.
"I guess any robber" the cold eyes were on Boone "would be glad to get them."
"I suppose so."
"I object." It was Beecher again, standing and shaking his head so that the queue swung behind his back. Judge Test moved one finger. "No fiddle-faddle."
"You can have him," said Eggleston to Squire Beecher.
Beecher asked, "Did you say you had never seen this boy before?"
"Never."
Beecher aimed a finger at Bedwell. "But, as a matter of fact, you shared his supper with him night before last, didn't you?"
"No."
"You shared his supper with him and spent the night at his campfire, and you got up early, while the boy still slept, and made off with his rifle and horn and pouch, didn't you?"
"No. I did not."
Eggleston interrupted. "The state objects to this line of questioning."
"Go on," said Judge Test to Beecher.
"And the boy attacked you just in the hope of getting his rifle back?"
"It wasn't his rifle."
The questions went on. Through a window Boone could see a tavern across the street and, at the side of it and farther on, the wooded knobs lifting to the horizon. He thought of the cave where he had spent the night, and the rain whispering on the rocks while he stayed dry inside.
"That's all," said Beecher. Bedwell started to get up, but Eggleston motioned him back. Eggleston's thin mouth worked carefully."Just a minute. Can you identify the rifle?"
"Of course. It was made by old Ben Mills at Harrodsburg, Kentucky. I bought it from him."
"Sheriff," Eggleston asked, "bring the rifle around, will you?" He looked at the piece, held it for Beecher's inspection and then handed it to the jurymen. It made the rounds among them while they nodded their heads. The prosecutor let himself smile.
Squire Beecher was on his feet. "Wait! Wait!" His finger leveled at Bedwell. "You could have memorized the name of the maker after you had stolen the rifle, couldn't you?"
"Yes," said Bedwell. "If I had stolen it."
"As a matter of fact, that would probably be the first thing you would do, wouldn't it?" asked Beecher, his eyes going from one juror to another. They looked at him and looked away, as if they couldn't be jarred loose from an idea.
Bedwell said, "Probably. If I had stolen it."
Eggleston pointed his lean face at the bench. "That's the case."
Squire Beecher turned to Boone. "All right," he said. His finger showed the way to the witness stand.
Boone got up and went over and sat down. At one side of him were the jurors, at the other the judges' bench. In front of him were the attorneys and Bedwell and the clerk with his big book and pen, and beyond them the townspeople, staring at him, turning to talk behind shielding hands out of eager, curling mouths. They eyes came together on him, as if everything was just one big eye and he was all there was to see. Only the Indian sat quiet, looking at him out of eyes that caught a gleam from the window, his hands idle in his lap, holding the moccasins. He wouldn't be a real western Indian, but a Miami, or maybe a Pottawatomi. Far back in the room a man was smiling at Boone, like a body would smile at a friend. In the whole passel of faces his was the only friendly one, unless it would be the Indian's.
"What is your name?" asked Beecher.
"Boone Caudill."
"In your own words," said Beecher quietly, "will you tell the court about your fight this morning and the circumstances surrounding it?"
"It's my gun. He stoled it."
"Wait a minute, now. Start at the first."
"I was fixin' my supper-"
"When and where?"
"Night before yistiddy. Down the road a piece."
"The other side of Greenville?"
"I reckon so."
"Go on."
Boone made a little gesture at Bedwell. "He came ridin' up."
"Yes?"
"He gave me his name and asked if he could put up, too."
"Yes?"
"Come mornin', he was gone, and the rifle to boot."
"And so," said Squire Beecher, "when you came upon him today you tried
Similar Books
