He paused, and as the crowd that blocked the side door gave way before the bailiffs, Old Funny-face was dragged unwillingly into court and led to the sand boat to join her calf. At the first sight of her dun-colored face and spotted neck every man in the jury-box looked at his neighbor knowingly. They were cowmen, every one of them used to picking out mothers by hair-marks in the corral cut, and Old Funny-face was a dead ringer for her calf. Even to the red blotch across his dun face the calf was the same, and when Funny-face indignantly repulsed its advances they were not deceived, for a cow soon forgets her offspring, once it is taken away. But most of all their trained eyes dwelt upon the mangled ears, the deep swallow fork in the left and the short crop in the right, and the record of the brands on her side. There was the broken arrow, just as Pecos had described it, and the vent mark on the shoulder. It would take some pretty stiff swearing to make them believe that that Spectacle brand on her ribs had not been burnt over a Monkey-wrench. It was Angy's inning now, and with a flourish he called Pecos to the stand and had him identify his cow; but when he called José Garcia, and José, gazing trustfully into Angy's eyes, testified that she was his old milk cow and he had, _sin duda_, sold her to Pecos Dalhart for twenty-five dollars, the self-composed Kilkenny began to rave with questions, while Crittenden broke into a cold sweat. Not only was the case going against him, but it threatened to leave him in the toils. It was too late to stop Garcia now—he had said his say and gone into a sullen silence—there was nothing for it but to swear, and swear hard. Kilkenny was on his toes, swinging his clenched fist into the hollow of his hand and raging at the witness, when Crittenden suddenly dragged him down by the coat-tails and began to whisper into his ear. Instantly the district attorney was all attention; he asked a question, and then another; nodded, and addressed the court. "Your Honor," he said, "I will excuse the witness and ask to call others in rebuttal. Will you take the chair, Mr. Crittenden!" Old Crit advanced to the stand and faced the court-room, a savage gleam in his eye. "Do you recognize this cow, Mr. Crittenden?" inquired Kilkenny mildly. "Yes, sir, I know her well. She's an old gentle cow that's been hangin' around my corral for years. I took her from Joe Garcia, last Spring, for some money he was owin' me." "What?" yelled Angy, springing up from his chair, "do you mean to say—" "I object, Your Honor!" clamored Kilkenny desperately. "I object! The witness is mine!" "The People's witness," ruled the judge; "let the examination proceed." "Is this cow the mother of the calf in question—do you identify her as the mother of this calf?" "I do!" repeated Crittenden solemnly. "And you can summon any of my cowboys—they'll swear to her."