“Go ahead, Sir!”

“Why is the man O’Finnigan not here?”

“Still drunk,” answered the Sheriff.

“Then, if A commit a crime, if A cut y’r throat, Mr. Coroner, all A have t’ do t’ avoid awkward questions, is t’ fill up?  Verra well!  Why is the woman Calamity, herself, not here?”

“Can’t be found,” called Wayland.

“So that if A’m accused of a crime A know no more about than th’ babe unborn, all A’ve t’ do t’ rivet that crime on myself for life is not to be found?  Verra well—­”

“Sir,” interrupted the coroner.

“A wud ask why is that little Irish lassie not here?”

Mrs. Williams explained that Lizzie, having exhausted the Indian children with her boastings in two days, had lost interest in life and run back to the slums.

“A always did say if y’ took a pig out o’ a pen an’ putt it in a parlor, ’twould feel lonesome for its hogwash,” exclaimed the old frontiersman running a puzzled hand through his mop of white hair.  Matthews also was twice interrupted in his testimony.  He was explaining that he anticipated trouble about the mine from what had already happened on the Rim Rocks when Wayland trod forcibly and sharply on his foot; and all reference to the pursuit across the Desert was omitted.  The coroner, it seemed, did not want any details about the Rim Rocks.  The second interruption came when he began to quote Mistress Lizzie O’Finnigan’s words those afternoons on the Ridge.  The attorney sprang up: 

“As the child is an incorrigible liar and her father an incorrigible drunkard, Mr. Coroner, I think it only fair to the Company that their aspersions and reference to us be stricken off the records;” and the coroner instructed the stenographer to erase all reference to Lizzie’s babbling.

The old frontiersman sat back with a dazed feeling that while he had expressed anticipation of trouble at the mine, he had failed to give proof or reason for that anticipation.

Brydges’ evidence was innocuous to the very end.  The Sheriff had whispered something to the coroner.

“Is there any reason why anyone in the Valley might harbor a grudge against the sheep rancher?” asked the coroner.

Brydges hesitated as one who could say much if he would.  “Yes, there is,” he answered lowering his eyes and flushing dully.

It was the attorney again who was on his feet.

“Mr. Coroner, the dead cannot defend themselves.  Out of respect to the deceased gentleman and the member of his family present, I think that line of enquiry ought not to be recorded or pursued.”

“The second time they have said that; what do they mean?” Eleanor asked Mrs. Williams in a whisper.

Matthews was hanging on to his chair to hold himself down and the news editor had leaned across Eleanor to speak to Wayland:  “Good God, Wayland!  Don’t you see the drift?  Can’t you head that off?”