This question was getting dangerously close to Abner Pickett. Gabriel recalled, with startling distinctness, that night on his employer’s porch, when the old man declared with such terrible emphasis that no person could do a better deed than to pull out all the stakes and throw them into the brook. And there was Abner Pickett now, sitting on the front bench, head and shoulders above the crowd, piercing him through with those clear blue eyes. He was in a quandary. He hesitated long before replying. “Well,” he said, at last, “I can’t say that I heard anybody say adzackly that; no, I can’t.” The lawyer followed up his clew mercilessly. “Did you hear any one, at any time, say that it would be right and proper to remove or destroy those stakes?” Before Gabriel could answer, Templeton, the opposing lawyer, was on his feet. “Counsel forgets,” he declared, “that this is his own witness whom he appears to be cross-examining. I demand the enforcement of the rule and the protection of the witness.” Judge Moore removed his glasses and poised them between his thumb and forefinger. “The witness appears to be unfriendly and evasive,” he declared. “We think counsel is within his rights in pressing the question. Proceed.” The incident gave Gabriel time for thought; but if he had had a year in which to think it out, he could not have framed a successfully evasive answer to the question. And it added not a little to his discomfiture that Abner Pickett’s eyes were still piercing him like arrows of fire. “Well,” said Marshall, impatiently, “answer the question. We can’t wait all day.” “W’y,” stammered Gabriel, “I--well I--” “Tell the truth, you fool!” [Illustration: “‘Tell the truth, you fool!’”] It was Abner Pickett who spoke that time, standing his full six feet two and pointing his long forefinger at the disconcerted witness. Again every eye in the court room was turned on the speaker. His arm was grasped roughly by a tipstaff, who hurried to his side. “Don’t remove him,” said Marshall. “I shall want him on the stand in a moment.” “The sooner, the better,” replied the old man, shaking off the grasp of the officer and dropping into his seat. Marshall turned to the witness. “Answer my question,” he demanded sharply, “yes or no.” “Yes,” replied Gabriel. “Who said so?” “Abner Pickett.” “When?” “The same night the stakes was set.” “What did he say?” “He said nobody could do a better thing than to pull ’em all up an’ throw ’em into the crick.” “That will do. Abner Pickett take the witness stand.” Things were moving rapidly now. Before Gabriel fairly knew it he was down out of the witness box, and his employer had taken his place and been duly sworn. “Are you the Abner Pickett of whom the last witness spoke?” was the first question asked him; and the answer came with a promptness that was startling. “The same man exactly.”