As the rising sun poured its flood of glorious light into the court-house square and the janitor, according to his custom, threw open the court-room doors to sweep, there was a scuffling of eager feet from without and the swift-moving pageantry of the Dalhart trial began. A trio of bums who had passed the night _al fresco_ on the park benches hustled past the astounded caretaker and bestowed themselves luxuriously on the front seats. As the saloons opened up and discharged their over-night guests others of the brotherhood drifted in and occupied the seats behind, and by the time the solid citizens of Geronimo had taken care of their stock, snatched their breakfasts, and hurried to the scene there was standing room only in the teeming chamber of justice. Only the special venire of jurymen took their time in the matter and the sweating bailiff had to pass them in through the side door in order to get them seated inside the railing. At nine-thirty Boone Morgan brought in the defendant, freshly shaven and with his hair plastered down across his forehead, and sat with him near the jail door. It was all in the line of duty, but there were those who remarked that it was right clever of old Boone to throw in that way with his jail alcalde. Some people would have put the nippers on him for the cow-thief that he was, and chained him to a deputy. Behind them, the cynosure of all eyes, sat the counsel for the defendant, Angevine Thorne, his round baby face illuminated with the light of a great resolve. On that day he was going to save his friend from prison or climb spider-webs in the attempt. A hush fell over the assembly as the hour of trial drew near and only the gaunt figure of Shepherd Kilkenny, pacing up and down before the empty jury-box, suggested the battle that was to come. The rest was as pathetic as the Angelus. The soft morning breeze breathed in through the windows and as Pecos glimpsed the row of horses tied to the hitching rack he filled his lungs deep with the sweet air, and sighed. The invalid who has been confined to his room longs vaguely for the open air, but to the strong man of action, shut up for months in a close cell, the outer world seems like a dream of paradise and he sees a new heaven in the skies. In the tense silence of waiting the tragedy in his face afflicted the morbid crowd and made them uneasy; they shifted their eyes to the stern, fighting visage of the district attorney and listened hopefully for the clock. It struck, slowly and with measured pauses, and as the last stroke sounded through the hall the black curtain behind the bench parted and the judge stepped into court. Then instantly the sheriff's gavel came down upon the table; the People rose before the person of the Law, and in sonorous tones Boone Morgan repeated the ancient formula for the calling of the court. "_Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!_ The District Court of Geronimo County is now in session!"