“Mr. Hardy, you have your Rolls with you?  Yes?  Well, tell me the blood status of each of these witnesses.”

The room was breathless while the little Roll-maker ran through his list.  According to this not one of the witnesses against Levine was a full blood nor one of the Indians from whom he had taken land.  Even old Susie and Charlie’s sister, he stated, had white blood in their veins.

“It’s a lie!” shouted Charlie.  “This man Hardy is paid by Levine!”

“Gently, Jackson!” said Senator James.  “Mr. Levine, do you wish to call more witnesses?”

“Not for the present,” replied John.  “Let Jackson go on.”

Charlie called old Susie.  And old Susie, waving aside any attempts on Charlie’s part to help, told of the death of her daughter from starvation and cold, this same daughter having sold her pines to Levine for a five-dollar bill and a dollar watch.  She held out the watch toward Levine in one trembling old hand.

“I find this in dress, when she dead.  She strong.  It take her many days to die.  I old.  I pray Great Spirit take me.  No!  I starve!  I freeze!  I no can die.  She young.  She have little baby.  She die.”

Suddenly, she flung the watch at Levine’s feet and sank trembling into her chair.

There was silence for a moment.  In at the open window came the rumble of a street-car.  Levine cleared his throat.

“All this is dramatic, of course, but doesn’t make me the murderer of the squaw.”

“No! but you killed my father!” shouted Charlie Jackson.  And rising, he hurled forth the story he had told Lydia, years before.  Lydia sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fastened in horror on Charlie’s face.  A great actor had been lost in creating Charlie an Indian.  He pictured his father’s death, his sister’s two attempts at revenge with a vividness and power that held even Levine spell-bound.  It seemed to Lydia that the noose was fastened closer round John’s neck with every word that was uttered.

Suddenly she sprang to her feet.  “Stop, Charlie!  Stop!” she screamed.  “You shan’t say any more!”

Senator Elway rapped on the table.  “You’re out of order, Miss Dudley,” he exclaimed, sharply.

Lydia had forgotten to be embarrassed.  “I can’t help it if I am,” she insisted, “I won’t have Charlie Jackson picturing Mr. Levine as a fiend, while I have a tongue to speak with.  I know how bad the Indian matters are.  Nobody’s worried about it more than I have.  But Mr. Levine’s not a murderer.  He couldn’t be.”

The three commissioners had looked up at Lydia with a scowl when she had interrupted Charlie.  Now the scowl, as they watched her flushed face, gave way to arched eyebrows and a little smile, that was reflected on every face in the room except Charlie Jackson’s.

“Lydia, you keep out of this,” he shouted.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”