Bud kissed the book mechanically, hooked his feet together and, clasping his big hands across his waist-line, settled his great body between the arms of the chair, with his chin resting on his shirt-front. Cartwright, in his most impressive manner, stepped a foot closer to Bud's chair. "Mr. Tilden, you have heard the testimony of the mail-carrier; now be good enough to tell the jury where you were on the night of the robbery--how many miles from this _mail-sack_?" and he waved his hand contemptuously toward the bag. It was probably the first time in all his life that Bud had heard any man dignify his personality with any such title. In recognition of the compliment, Bud raised his chin slightly and fixed his eyes more intently on his questioner. Up to this time he had not taken the slightest notice of him. "'Bout as close's I could git to it--'bout three feet, I should say--maybe less." Cartwright gave a slight start and bit his lip. Evidently the prisoner had misunderstood him. The silence continued. "I don't mean _here_, Mr. Tilden;" and he pointed to the bag. "I mean the night of the so-called robbery." "That's what I said; 'bout as close's I could git." "Well, did you rob the mail?" This was asked uneasily, but with a half-concealed laugh in his voice as if the joke would appear in a minute. "No." "No, of course not." The tone of relief was apparent. "Well, do you know anything about the cutting of the bag?" "Yes." "Who did it?" "Me." "_You?"_ The surprise was now an angry one. "Yes, me." At this unexpected reply the Judge pushed his glasses high up on his forehead with a quick motion and leaned over his bench, his eyes on the prisoner. The jury looked at each other with amazement; such scenes were rare in their experience. The prosecuting attorney smiled grimly. Cartwright looked as if someone had struck him a sudden blow in the face. "What for?" he stammered. It was evidently the only question left for him to ask. All his self-control was gone now, his face livid, an angry look in his eyes. That any man with State's prison yawning before him could make such a fool of himself seemed to astound him. Bud turned slowly and, pointing his finger at Halliday, said between his closed teeth: "Ask Hank Halliday; he knows." The buzzard sprang to his feet. There was the scent of carrion in the air now; I saw it in his eyes. "We don't want to ask Mr. Halliday; we want to ask you. Mr. Halliday is not on trial, and we want the truth if you can tell it." The irregularity of the proceeding was unnoticed in the tense excitement. Bud looked at him as a big mastiff looks at a snarling cur with a look more of pity than contempt. Then he said slowly, accentuating each word: