He went to his trial like a man in a dream following the sheriff up the narrow winding stairs; but when he entered the crowded courtroom with its bank of auditors standing behind he swept the sea of faces with keen eyes. Here were the men that were to try him, the men of Geronimo; for what they thought would be reflected by the jury which would be called to sit on his case. The jury would cast the ballot but The People would decide for thought is as fluid as air. It passes from man to man despite the menace of bailiffs and the charges of the court commanding silence; and the opinion of the majority finds its expression at last when the foreman says: "Guilty" or "Not Guilty." Hall plead "Not Guilty," and he plead according to fact, for his hand was innocent of the crime; yet so intimate is the connection between what we think and what we are that somehow he felt himself the killer. He had come to Geronimo to kill Isham or be killed; he had ridden to his ranch to waylay him; and only the intervention of Winchester Bassett had kept him from accomplishing his purpose. Not that he held himself to blame, for the teachings of a lifetime made him consider such an act as praiseworthy; but the look in his eyes was that of a man-killer who seeks no excuse for his crime. And the men of Geronimo, being a hardy band of citizens, looked on in grim approval. According to their code he had committed no crime--he had fought a fair fight and won. Being questioned he admitted that on the morning of the killing he had been present at the scene of the crime, he acknowledged his connection with the Maverick Basin War and his grudge against the deceased; but he denied most vigorously that he had fired the shots that had resulted in the death of Isham. All this he did voluntarily, in the form of a statement, and then he sat down and waited. There was a stir in the crowd and Mrs. Scarborough stepped forward, swathed in black to emphasize her widowhood; but when she began to talk she threw back the long veil and her eyes became set with hate. Question after question was asked and answered, the time and place were fully established; and then the District Attorney asked the one crucial question: "And what did your husband say?" "He said," she said passionately: "'Hall killed me--Hall McIvor!'" And then she turned and looked at him. "That is all," nodded the District Attorney, and rested his case, at which there was another stir in the crowd. Hall turned with the rest, and when he saw Meshackatee's huge head, his broad shoulders and curling black beard, he smiled for the first time that day.