The Captain waited a minute or two, that the “facts” might sink deep into the minds of the listeners.

“Were any shots fired by any one except Allen?” he asked coldly, when the silence was sufficiently emphasized.

“There were not.  Nobody,” Swift flashed with a very human resentment, “had a chance after he commenced!” He flushed at the involuntary tribute to the prowess of his enemy, when he saw that maddening grin appear again on Jack’s lips; a grin which called him liar and scoundrel and in the same flicker defied him.

The investigation took on the color of a sensation at that point, when the stranger sprang suddenly to his feet and stood glaring at the witness.  There were no signs now of tears or weakness; he was a man fighting for what he believed to be right and just.

“Captain, that man is a dirty liar!” he cried hotly.  “He and his precious cronies tried to rob me, out there.  I was coming into town from across the bay; I had hired a Spaniard to bring me across in a small sailboat, and the tide carried us down too far, so I told him to land and I’d walk back to town, rather than tack back.  And these men met me, and tried to rob me!  This man,” he accused excitedly, pointing a rageful finger at Swift, “was going to stab me in the throat when he saw I resisted.  I was fighting the three, and they were getting the best of me.  I never owned a gun, and I just had my fists.  The two others had grabbed me, and this man Swift pulled a knife.  I remember one of them saying:  ‘Don’t shoot—­it’ll bring the whole town out!’ And just as this one raised his knife to drive it into my throat—­they were bending me backwards, the other two—­I heard a shot, and this one dropped his knife and gave a yell.  There were two other shots, and the two who were holding me dropped.  This one ran off.  Then—­” The boy turned and looked down at Jack, smoking his cigarette and trying to read what lay behind the stolid stare of the twelve men who sat in a solemn row on the bunks opposite him.  “This young man—­” His lips trembled, and he stopped, to bite them into a more manlike firmness.

“Gentlemen, do what you like with me, but you’ve got to let this man go!  He’s the coolest, bravest man I ever saw!  He saved my life.  You can’t hang him for protecting a man from murder and robbery!”

“Young man,” interrupted the Captain after a surprised silence, “we admire your generosity in trying to clear your fellow prisoner, but you must let this jury try his case.  What’s your name?”

“John Belden, of Cambridge, Massachusetts.”  The young fellow’s rage faded to a sullen calm under the cold voice.

The Captain made a startled movement and looked at him sharply.  “And what was your hurry to get to town?” he asked, after a minute.

“I wanted to get a ticket on the boat, the Mary Elizabeth, that is going to leave for New York to-morrow.  I wanted to go—­home.  I’ve had enough of gold-hunting!” Youthful bitterness was in his tone and in the look he turned on the jury.