_Wahnotee._ Mort! _M'Closky._ And you killed him? [_They approach again._] _Scud._ Hold on! _Pete._ Um, Paul reste? _Wahnotee._ Hugh vieu. [_Goes_ L.] Paul reste el! _Scud._ Here, stay! [_Examines the ground._] The earth has been stirred here lately. _Wahnotee._ Weenee Paul. [_Points down, and shows by pantomime how he buried_ Paul.] _Scud._ The Injiun means that he buried him there! Stop! here's a bit of leather; [_draws out mail-bags_] the mail-bags that were lost! [_Sees tomahawk in_ Wahnotee's _belt--draws it out and examines it._] Look! here are marks of blood--look thar, red-skin, what's that? Wahnotee. Paul! [_Makes sign that_ Paul _was killed by a blow on the head._] _M'Closky._ He confesses it; the Indian got drunk, quarreled with him, and killed him. _Re-enter_ Lafouche, R., _with smashed apparatus._ _Lafouche._ Here are evidences of the crime; this rum-bottle half emptied--this photographic apparatus smashed--and there are marks of blood and footsteps around the shed. _M'Closky._ What more d'ye want--ain't that proof enough? Lynch him! _Omnes._ Lynch him! Lynch him! _Scud._ Stan' back, boys! He's an Injiun--fair play. _Jackson._ Try him, then--try him on the spot of his crime. _Omnes._ Try him! Try him! _Lafouche._ Don't let him escape! _Ratts._ I'll see to that. [_Draws revolver._] If he stirs, I'll put a bullet through his skull, mighty quick. _M'Closky._ Come, form a court then, choose a jury--we'll fix this varmin. _Enter_ Thibodeaux _and_ Caillou, L. _Thibo._ What's the matter? _Lafouche._ We've caught this murdering Injiun, and are going to try him. [Wahnotee _sits_ L., _rolled in blanket._] _Pete._ Poor little Paul--poor little nigger! _Scud._ This business goes agin me, Ratts--'tain't right. _Lafouche._ We're ready; the jury's impanelled--go ahead--who'll be accuser? _Ratts._ M'Closky. _M'Closky._ Me? _Ratts._ Yes; you was the first to hail Judge Lynch. _M'Closky._ [R.] Well, what's the use of argument whar guilt sticks out so plain; the boy and Injiun were alone when last seen. _Scud._ (L. C.) Who says that? _M'Closky._ Everybody--that is, I heard so. _Scud._ Say what you know--not what you heard. _M'Closky._ I know then that the boy was killed with that tomahawk--the red-skin owns it--the signs of violence are all round the shed--this apparatus smashed--ain't it plain that in a drunken fit he slew the boy, and when sober concealed the body yonder? _Omnes._ That's it--that's it. _Ratts._ Who defends the Injiun? _Scud._ I will; for it is agin my natur' to b'lieve him guilty; and if he be, this ain't the place, nor you the authority to try him. How are we sure the boy is dead at all? There are no witnesses but a rum bottle and an old machine. Is it on such evidence you'd hang a human being? _Ratts._ His own confession.