The Captain stopped and looked calmly and judicially from face to face in the crowd.

“That, gentlemen, is the statement made to me by Texas Bill, who now lies dead in Pete’s Place as a result of the wound inflicted by Allen.”

“That’s a lot of swearing for a man to do that’s been shot through the lungs,” commented Bill Wilson skeptically.

The Captain gave him a malevolent look and continued.  “We will ask Mr. Swift to come forward and tell us what he knows of this deplorable and, if I may be permitted the term, disgraceful affair.”

Mr. Swift edged his way carefully through the crowd with his left arm thrust out to protect the right, which was bandaged and rested in a blood-stained sling.  He asked permission to sit down; kicked a box into the small, open space between the Captain, the jury, and the prisoners, and seated himself with the air of a man about to perform an extremely painful duty.

“Hold up your right hand,” commanded the Captain.

Swift apologetically raised his left hand and gazed steadfastly into the cold, impartial eyes of his Captain.

“You swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so-help-you-God?”

Swift, his purplish eyes wide and clear and honest as the gaze of a baby, calmly affirmed that he did.

Jack grinned and lazily fanned the smoke of his cigarette away, so that he might the better gaze upon this man who was about to tell the whole truth and nothing else.  He caught Swift’s eye and added a sneering lift to the smile; and Swift’s eyes changed from bland innocence to hate triumphant.

“Mr. Swift, you will now relate to us the circumstances of this affair, truthfully, in the order of their happening,” directed the deep voice of the Captain.

Mr. Swift carefully eased his wounded arm in its sling, turned his innocent gaze upon the crowd, and began: 

“Texas, Rawhide, and myself were crossing the sandy stretch south of town about noon, when we met this chap—­the stranger there.”  He nodded slightly toward the boy.  “I was walking behind the other two, but I heard Rawhide say:  ‘Hello, son, any luck in the diggin’s?’ The kid said:  ‘None of your damn business!’ That made Rawhide kinda mad, being spoke to that way when he just meant to be friendly, and he told the kid he better keep a civil tongue in his head if he wanted to get along smooth—­or words to that effect.  I don’t,” explained Mr. Swift virtuously, “remember the exact words, because I was looking at the fellow and wondering what made him so surly.  He sassed Rawhide again, and told him to mind his own business and give advice when it was asked for, and struck at him.  Rawhide hit back, and then I heard a shot, and Rawhide fell over.  I looked around quick, and started to pull my gun, but a bullet hit me here—­” Mr. Swift laid gentle finger-tips upon his arm near the shoulder—­“so I couldn’t.  I saw it was Jack Allen shooting and coming towards us from a clump of bushes off to the right of us.  He shot again, and Texas Bill fell.  I ducked behind a bush and started for help, when I met the Captain and a few others coming out to see what was the matter.  That,” finished Mr. Swift, “is the facts of the case, just as they happened.”