The judge threw off his robes and sat down and as the audience sank back into their crowded seats he cast one swift, judicial glance at the defendant, the clerk, and the district attorney and called the case of Pecos Dalhart, charged with the crime of grand larceny. With the smoothness of well-worn machinery the ponderous wheels of justice began to turn, never halting, never faltering, until the forms prescribed by law had been observed. One after the other, the clerk called the names of the forty talesmen, writing each name on a slip of paper as the owner answered "Here"; then at a word from the judge he placed the slips in a box and shook out twelve names upon the table. As his name was called and spelled each talesman rose from his seat and shambled over to the jury-box, turning his solemn face from the crowd. They held up their right hands and swore to answer truthfully all questions relative to their qualifications as jurors, and sat down to listen to the charges; then, after reading the information upon which the accusations were based, the district attorney glanced shrewdly at the counsel for defendant and called the first juryman. The battle had begun. The first talesman was a tall, raw-boned individual with cowman written all over him, and the district attorney was careful not to ask his occupation. He wanted a jury of twelve cowmen, no less; and, knowing every man in the venire either by sight or reputation, he laid himself out to get it. "Mr. Rambo," he began, "do you know the defendant in this case?" He indicated Pecos Dalhart with a contemptuous wave of the hand, and Mr. Rambo said he did not. "Know anything about this case?" "Only what I read in the papers," responded the cowman dryly. "You don't believe everything you read, do you, Mr. Rambo? If you were passed for a juror you wouldn't let anything you have read influence your mind, if it was proven that the defendant was guilty, would you?" "No, sir!" "If I should prove to your satisfaction that the defendant here"—another contemptuous wave of the hand—"had wilfully and feloniously stolen and branded the animal in question, what would your verdict be—'Guilty' or 'Not guilty'?" "W'y—er—'Guilty'!" "Pass the juror!" snapped the district attorney, and then he looked at the counsel for the defendant as if imploring him not to waste any of the court's valuable time. "Mr. Rambo," began Angy, singing the words in a child-like, embarrassed manner, "you are engaged in the business of raising cattle, are you not?" The district attorney winced at this, but Angevine Thorne did not take advantage of his discovery. He also wanted a jury of twelve cowmen, though he did not show his hand.