“Oh, Jim! Jim! You have perjured yourself already!” murmured the Boss. “Clean lamp chimneys—ye gods!” “Well, grin away!” exploded Jim, his quick ire rising. He had forgotten that Judge Dale’s court was not like Justice McAllister’s. His fingers fairly itched to draw a pistol and make the scoffers laugh and dance to a little music of his own. But something in Gordon’s steady though seemingly careless gaze brought him back to the seriousness of the scene they were playing—without guns. The examination proceeded. The air was getting stifling. Windows were thrown open. Damp-looking clouds had arisen from nowhere seemingly and spread over the little prairie town, over the river and the hills. It was very warm. Weather-seasoned inhabitants would have predicted storm had they not been otherwise engaged. There was no breath of air stirring. Mrs. Higgins had said it was a sorry day for the cattle when the river was running in December. Others had said so and so believed, but people were not thinking of the cattle now. One big-boned, long-horned steer held the stage alone. The State proceeded to Munson’s identification of the steer in question. After many and searching questions, Gordon asked the witness: “Jim, would you be willing to swear that the steer you had held over at the stock-yards was the very same steer that was the mascot of the Three Bars ranch?” This was Jim’s big opportunity. “Know Mag? Swear to Mag? Dick, I would know Mag ef I met him on the golden streets of the eternal city or ef my eyes was full o’ soundin’ cataracts! Yep.” “I am not asking such an impossible feat, Mr. Munson,” cut in Gordon, nettled by the digressions of one of his most important witnesses. “Answer briefly, please. Would you be willing to swear?” Jim was jerked back to the beaten track by the sharp incision of Gordon’s rebuke. No, this was indeed not Jimmie Mac’s court. “Yep,” he answered, shortly. Billy Brown was called. After the preliminary questions, Gordon said to him: “Now, Mr. Brown, please tell the jury how you came into possession of the steer.” “Well, I was shippin’ a couple o’ car loads to Sioux City, and I was drivin’ the bunch myself with a couple o’ hands when I meets up with Jesse Black here. He was herdin’ a likely little bunch o’ a half dozen or so—among ’em this spotted feller. He said he wasn’t shippin’ any this Fall, but these were for sale—part of a lot he had bought from Yellow Wolf. So the upshot of the matter was, I took ’em off his hands. I was just lackin’ ’bout that many to make a good, clean, two cars full.” “You took a bill-of-sale for them, of course, Mr. Brown?” “I sure did. I’m too old a hand to buy without a bill-o’-sale.” The document was produced, marked as an exhibit, and offered in evidence.