"We'll come to that," interjected Carmody, as Durgin left the chair. "Have you Rita's shoes, Mr. Sheriff?" Throop handed up a pair of women's shoes, and Carmody continued: "You swear these are the shoes worn by Margarita Cuneo when you took charge of her?" "I do." "Mr. Hanscom, will you examine these shoes and say whether they are the ones worn by Rita Cuneo when you arrested her?" Hanscom took them. "I think they are the same, but I cannot tell positively without comparing them with my drawings." The jury, deeply impressed by this new and unexpected evidence, minutely examined the shoe soles and compared them with the drawings while the audience waited in tense expectancy. "They sure fit," said the spokesman of the jury. Raines objected. "Even if they do _seem_ to fit, that is not conclusive. We don't know _when_ the tracks were made. They may have been made after the murder or before." "Call Rita Cuneo," said Carmody to the sheriff. The girl came to the stand, looking so scared, so pale, and so small that some of the women, without realizing the importance of her testimony, clicked their tongues in pity. "Dear, dear! How young she is!" they exclaimed. Carmody, by means of a few rapid questions gently expressed, drew out her name, her age, and some part of her family history, and then, with sudden change of manner, bluntly asked: "How did you happen to be in that cabin with those two men?" Pitifully at a loss, she finally stammered out an incoherent explanation of how they were just riding by and saw the door standing open, and went in, not meaning any harm. She denied knowing Watson, but admitted having met him on the road several times, and hotly insisted that she had never visited his house in her life. "Where have you been living since leaving home?" "In the hills." "Where?" "At the sawmill." "How long had you been there when you heard of Watson's death?" "About two weeks." "Were you in camp?" "No, we were staying in the old cabin by the creek." "You mean Busby and Kitsong and yourself?" "Yes, sir." "Well, now, which one of these men did you leave home with--Busby or Kitsong?" Her head drooped, and while she wavered Raines interposed, arguing that the question was not pertinent. But Carmody insisted, and soon developed the fact that she was much more eager to defend Busby than Kitsong. She denied that he had ever cursed Watson or threatened to do him harm, but the coroner forced her to admit that Busby had told her of having had trouble with the dead man, and then, thrusting a pair of shoes at her, he sternly asked: "Are these your shoes?" "No, sir," she firmly declared. Her answer surprised Hanscom and dazed the sheriff, who exclaimed beneath his breath, "The little vixen!" Carmody's tone sharpened: "Do you mean to tell me that these are not the shoes you wore in town yesterday?" "No, I don't mean that." "What _do_ you mean?"