“Was any part of a body left?”

“Nary thing.”

“Any boot, hat, or bit of clothing?”

“Not a single thing, fur’s I c’d see.”

“That’s all,” said Franklin.

“Re-direct, Mr. Prosecutor?” said the Court.  This was Greek to the audience, but they were enjoying the entertainment.

“Pass the re-direct,” said the State’s attorney confidently.

“Do you wish to recall this witness, Mr. Franklin?” asked the Court.

“Yes, if your Honour please.  I want to take up some facts in the earlier life of the prisoner, as bearing upon his present mental condition.”

“Very well,” said the judge, yawning.  “You may wait a while, Mr. Haskins.”

“Well, then, Curly,” said Franklin, again addressing himself to his witness, “please tell us how long you have known this prisoner.”

“Ever since we was kids together.  He used to be a mozo on my pap’s ranch, over in San Saba County.”

“Did you ever know him to receive any injury, any blow about the head?”

“Well, onct ole Hank Swartzman swatted him over the head with a swingletree.  Sort o’ laid him out, some.”

“‘Bject!” cried the State’s attorney, but the judge yawned “M’ go on.”

“Did he act strangely after receiving that blow?”

“Why, yes; I reckon you would yerself.  He hit him a good lick.  It was fer ridin’ Hank’s favourite mare, an’ from that time to now Juan ain’t never been on horseback since.  That shows he’s loco.  Any man what walks is loco.  Part o’ the time, Juan, he’s bronco, but all the time he’s loco.”

“He has spells of violence?”

“Shore.  You know that.  You seen how he fit that Injun—­”

“Oh, keep him to the line,” protested the prosecutor.

“We won’t take up that just now, Curly,” said Franklin.

“Well, this here shorely is the funniest layout I ever did see,” said Curly, somewhat injured.  “A feller can’t say a d——­d thing but only jest what you all want him to say.  Now, say—­”

“Yes, but—­” began Franklin, fearing that he might meet trouble with this witness even as the prosecutor had, and seeing the latter smiling behind his hand in recognition of this fact.

“Now, say,” insisted Curly, “if you want something they ain’t none o’ you said a word about yet, I’ll tell you something.  You see, Juan, he had a sister, and this here Cal Greathouse, he—­”

“I object, yo’ Honah!  I object!” cried the State’s attorney, springing to his feet.  “This is bringin’ the dignity o’ the law into ridicule, sah! into ridicule!  I object!”

“Er, ah-h-h!” yawned the judge, suddenly sitting up, “’Journ court, Mr. Clerk!  We will set to-morrow mornin’ at the same place, at nine o’clock.—­Mr. Sheriff, take charge of the prisoner.—­Where is the sheriff, Mr. Clerk?”

“Please the Court,” said the prosecuting attorney, “Sheriff Watson is not here to-day.  He is lyin’ sick out to his ranch.  He was injured, yo’ Honah, in arrestin’ Ike Anderson, and he has not yet recovered.”